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ROYALIZED. 


REESE, ROCKWELL. 


0 


“ What is the best government ? That which teaches us to govern 
ourselves. ’ ’ — Goethe. 



/ 


NEW YORK : PHILLIPS <5r= HUNT. 
CINCINNA TI: CRANSTON 6^ STOWE. 
1887. 





C' 


O 



Copyright, 1887, by 
PHILLIPS <i HUNT, 
New York. 



,1 





\ 



CONTENTS 


Chapter Page 

I. An Unhappy Circumstance 5 

II. A Leaf from the Past 20 

III. Mr. Alonzo Fitzsimmons 28 

IV. One of These Little Ones 40 

V. Apples of Gold 57 

VI. Heart Over Head 71 

YII. Red and Green 91 

YIII. Birdie 112 

IX. A Vision 129 

X. In the Gloaming 139 

XL Under City Lights 152 

XII. Thicker than Water 165 

XIII. Voices Gone 178 

XIV. Acknowledged 194 

XV. Aspirations 206 

XVI. A Wise Son 218 

XVII. Not Ourselves : . 232 

XVIII. April Days 248 

XIX. Sir Richard 260 

XX. Creeds and Deeds 269 


4 Contents. 

Chapter Page 

XXL Buttercups and Daisies 283 

XXIL Aunt Roxy’s Opinion 296 

XXIII. Louder than Words 307 

XXIV. Honor’s Hobby 317 

XXV. Drops op Light 329 

XXVI. Lengthened Shadows 342 

XXVII. In the Rain 353 

XXVIII. A Compact 364 

XXIX. Forecastings 375 

XXX. The Bitter End 386 

XXXI. Stranger than Fiction 392 

XXXII. After Long Grief 402 

XXXIII. Grand or Le Grand? 411 

XXXIV. Rex 419 


ROYALIZED. 


I. 

AN UNHAPPY CIRCUMSTANCE. 

“ No star is- lost we once have seen, 

We always may be what we might have been.” 

How disagreeable it all was ! Mrs. Whitney wiped 
the perspiration from her aristocratic forehead, leaned 
back, and closed her eyes with an expression of resig- 
nation which was not genuine. One hour to wait in 
this dingy, dusty, smoky old depot, with mercury 
well up in the nineties and not a breath of fresh air 
from any quarter ! Truly, life had its hard places. 

“ Are you really going to stop a whole hour in this 
stupid hole?” whined her son and heir. Master Le 
Grand Whitney, a heavy frown settling darkly over 
his puny face. “ you, mamma ?” touching her 
sleeve impatiently as she did not reply. 

“ Certainly ; where else would I stop ? ” 

Why, let us get a carriage to take us to a hotel. 
We can’t live here an hour.” 

“We will have to make the endeavor, notwith- ' 
standing. Unfortunately, our train will not be likely 
to go around by the hotel to take us in, and I have 
no fancy for spending the night in this smoky city. 


Eoyalized. 


() 

Do go away, Le Grand, and amuse yourself and your 
sister some way. The hour will pass in time.” 

Yes, in just sixty minutes. Well, come along, 
Maud, you and I will go and see the sights.” 

The mother’s eyes unclosed speedily at this. 

“You will not go out of this waiting-room until 
the train comes,” slie said authoritatively. “ I’m sure 
I have enough to worry me without looking after you. 
Maud, I wish you would stop that drumming on the 
window-sill. My nerves are completely unstrung.” 

Maud, a slight, pale girl of fifteen, with tawny 
hair and glowering brows, turned about slowly. 

“ If this is a sample of the cool Northern air which 
is to revive my drooping graces, I must confess I 
prefer decidedly to spend my davs in the sunny 
South.” 

She spoke deliberately, drawing off her glove from 
a hand that was white as snow, and brushing the dust 
from her ruffles with a dainty bit of cambric and 
lace. 

“ It is not a sample, child ; wait until you see the 
lordly Hudson sweeping, like a stream of melted sil- 
ver, between its emerald shores at old ‘ Glendyn.’ ” 

“ From present indications, I fear I shall not live 
to see it ; people die of suffocation or sunstroke occa- 
sionally, do they not ? O to be back under the shade 
of the magnolias ! ” 

Mrs. Whitney sighed. 

“ W ell, do stop fretting, child. Y ou’ll like the 
North well enough when you have seen more of it. 
This weather is the exception, not the rule, in June. 
Now do give me a little rest, I beseech you. Le 
Grand, don’t speak to that boy ! ” 


An Unhappy Circumstance. 


7 


“ That boy ” was a young fellow with garments 
somewhat tattered and not overclean hands, who 
strolled idly back and forth upon the platform out- 
side, casting sharp glances now and then toward the 
discomfited party within. The only effect which 
his mother’s behest had upon Le Grand was to 
induce him to take a step nearer the young tatterde- 
malion and eye him from head to foot with a super- 
cilious stare. The bright eyes under the torn hat 
returned the stare good-naturedly and unabashed. 

“ I say, young fellar, what’ll you take for that wig 
o’ yours ? ” 

Le Grand involuntarily raised his hand for ap in- 
stant to his luxuriant crop of sandy curls, then his 
cheeks grew red-hot. 

“ May be you’d like to trade that elegant suit you 
have on, or that Parisian necktie, or that exquisite 
straw hat.” 

‘‘ Any thing you like, my lad,” returned the boy 
composedly ; ‘‘ I’d give a good deal for such a top- 
knot as that.” 

This was more than Le Grand could bear. Turning 
carelessly as if to stroll away in the opposite direction, 
he suddenly caught the old straw hat with his light 
cane, and sent it spinning across the platform, di- 
rectly under the wheels of an engine which was 
slowly advancing. 

The boy sprang to rescue it, but not until the 
heavy iron wheels had crushed the brim entirely out 
of existence. 

Le Grand laughed immoderately. 

“ I beg ten thousand pardons, signor,” he said, lift- 
ing his own stylish felt hat in mock apology. “ I mis- 


8 


Royalized. 


took tliat chapeau of yours for a bit of a hay stack, j 
really did. You’ll forgive me, wont you?” 

‘‘ With all my heart,” was the cool reply ; “ I make 
mistakes myself sometimes.” But there was a sparkle 
in the bright dark eyes which meant danger, if Le 
Grand Whitney had only known it. 

Maud had been watching this by-play with some 
interest and a trifle of amusement; but at this point 
she was greatly astonished. The amazing coolness 
which this street gamin displayed under such ex- 
treme provocation was something which the Southern 
girl could not comprehend. 

“Mamma,” she called, apprehensively, “I wish you 
would make Le Grand behave ; he is doing his utmost 
to provoke a flght with this little ragamuffin out here, 
and if he succeeds he’ll get the worst of it, de- 
cidedly.” 

Mrs. Whitney arose languidly and advanced to 
the door. 

“ I don’t see why boys must always act so like 
monkeys. What is he doing ? ” 

“ Why, he knocked the fellow’s hat off and the 
locomotive ran on it and tore the brim completely 
off. I expected to see him knocked down for it. 
Really, that chap must be blessed with Christian 
grace.” 

Mrs. Whitney came nearer and looked at the boy 
curiously. He tipped his brimless hat to her with a 
sort of indifferent respectfulness. 

“Can I do any thing for you, lady?” he asked 
cautiously. 

Yes; you can go away and attend to your busi- 
ness until the 3:15 train going north arrives; then 


An Unhappy Circumstancp:. 


9 


you can come and help me aboard with my luggage, 
and I will pay you for the loss of your hat. Do you 
understand ? ” 

“ Yes, madam, [ understand.” 

There was an odd gleam in the keen eyes, as with 
another wave of the hat crown he vanished speedily 
from sight. 

The long, hot, weary hour dragged itself away at 
last, and promptly at the appointed time the boy pre- 
sented himself at the door of the waiting-room. 

“ Here you are, lady ! ” he said, catching up a 
shawl strap here, a satchel and a hand-bag there. 
“ This way' for your train, and you’ll be off in a 

jiffy-” 

Mrs. Whitney and her children followed him with 
relieved expressions upon their timid faces. 

“ Are you sure this is the right train ? ” asked the 
lady, as he held out his hand to assist her up the 
step. 

“ O, certainly, ma’am ; I know all about these 
trains. I’ve been errand boy around this depot for 
six months and more. This seat, lady, on the shady 
side. Let me open the window^ for you, miss.” 

He arranged the luggage and adjusted the seats 
and the window with great precision, lingering longer 
than was necessary over each detail and talking lo- 
cpaciously meanwhile. 

Mrs. Whitney settled herself comfortably, and 
opened her purse. 

‘‘ How much — ” 

“Through train for Chicago and the West; all 
aboard ! ” shouted a voice at the door. 

She sprang to her feet, aghast, staring at the boy 


10 


Koyalized. 


in utter consternation ! His round face wore an ex- 
pression of undisturbed gravity. 

“ Any thing the matter, lady ? ” 

‘‘Any thing the matter! We’re in the wrong 
train ; I might have known it. That’s what comes 
of trusting a street vagrant. Le Grand, ask the con- 
ductor to show me the train going north. Quick ! ” 

“ There she goes, madam,” said the boy quietly, 
pointing to a train some distance ojff, which was 
moving slowly away, “that’s the through exjDress to 
Albany. Why on earth didn’t you say you were 
going north ? ” 

“Didn't I say so? What a fool I have been. 
Here, Maud. Le Grand, gather up tliese traps quick- 
ly, or we shall be carried off to nobody knows where. 
These good-for-nothing little beasts of boys ought to 
be strangled. I suppose now we can stay here all 
night.” 

“ O, no, ma’am,” said the boy coolly ; “ there’s an- 
other train at 5:20. Only two hours more to wait.” 

There was a ring of exultation in the clear tones at 
which Le Graml’s hot Southern blood arose in a 
torrent. 

“ I believe you took us away on purpose, you dirty 
scamp,” he cried, doubling up his fist. 

“O, not at all. It was only my mistcike. We’re 
all liable to mistakes, you know. I beg ten thou- 
sand pardons, signor.” 

“You’re a liar! You said it was the right train 
when you knew it wasn’t ! ” 

“Ho lie about that. I said it was the right train, 
and so it was for folks that was goin’ West. I didn’t 
say ’twas the right train for you, did I ? ” 


An Unhappy Circumstance. 


11 


Le Grand made a blind effort to seize him by the 
collar, bat he darted away and disappeared among 
the crowd, his light laugh floating back so mockingly 
that the Southern boy stamped his feet with helpless 
rage. 

His sister gave him an impertinent push. 

“ You’ve nobody to blame for this but yourself, Le 
Grand Whitney,” she said angrily. ‘‘It’s only tit 
for tat. May be you’ll learn to let Yankee street 
boys alone after this. Mamma, what will we do 
now \ ” 

Mrs. Whitney did not answer. She was staring 
straight ahead of her with wide, frightened eyes.' 

“ It cannot be possible ! ” she exclaimed, the words 
escaping her involuntarily. ' 

A lady had stepped from one of the incoming 
trains and was walking toward her rapidly, her head 
bent and her eyes upon the ground. A lady she cer- 
tainly was ; no one would have thought of calling 
her by any other name, though her dress was shabby 
and worn, and her bonnet of the coarsest straw, with- 
out even a ribbon to relieve its plainness. Her figure 
was simply elegant; straight as a dart, tall, slender, 
and extremely graceful, every step the very poetry 
of motion. Her face was full and somewhat worn, 
but the features were faultless, as if chiseled in 
marble, and the hair lying in moist waves upon her 
pale forehead was of the rarest shade of golden 
brown. Every thing about her, save her dress, be- 
tokened the utmost refinement and gentility. 

“ What is the matter, mamma \ ” asked Maud, look- 
ing curiously into her mother’s face, which had grown 
very white. “ Are you sick ? ” 


12 


RoYALIZEI). 


At tliat instant the stranger raised a pair of fine 
dark eyes and flashed them full upon Mrs. Whitney’s 
face. As she did so she gave a low, startled cry and 
stood still, placing her hand over her heart, and 
staring at the little, commonplace, fashionably dressed 
woman as if she were looking at a ghost. 

“ Children, take these traps into the waiting-room 
and stay there until I jcome,” said Mrs. Whitney, in 
low, peremptory tones. ‘‘ This person is an old ac- 
quaintance of mine, and I must speak to her.” 

“ Why must we go ? ” asked Maud, looking won- 
deringly toward the stranger, who stood mbtionless, as 
if turned into stone. 

“Because I command you,” stamping her foot, 
emphatically. “ Go this instant ! ” 

They departed unwillingly, Maud casting back 
curious glances from under her light eyelashes. Left 
alone, Mrs. Whitney quickly recovered her self-posses- 
sion. She advanced a step and held out her hand, 
coldly. 

“I see you know me,” she said; “otherwise I 
should not have spoken. How do you do?” 

The lady in the shabby clothes drew herself up to 
a queenly height, and flashed a glance of something 
very like contempt upon the one in elegant attire. 
A student of human nature, passing the two at that 
moment, would have suspected them of moving in 
disguised positions. The well-dressed woman looked 
absolutely mean and cringing beside the other. Her 
eyes drooped ; she could not meet that steady, re- 
proachful gaze. 

Well, Bosalie,” she said, with a little embarrassed 
laugh, “ I perceive I might as well have spared my- 


An Unhappy Circumstance. 


13 


self this mortification. You do not seem to think it 
worth while to speak to me.” 

It is fourteen years since I have seen you,” said 
the otlier quietly. 

‘‘Yes; you have altered somewhat;” and Mrs. 
Whitney'S eyes swept her significantly from head to 
foot. The beautiful lips curled. 

“ Mildred, why did you send your children away ?” 
Her voice was low, clear, cultivated. 

“ I did not wish them to witness our interview.” 

“You were ashamed to acknowledge your sister in 
their presence ? ” questioningly. 

“ Well, have 1 not reason to be ashamed?” 

“ What reason ? ” 

“Well, really, it is scarcely necessary to go into 
those old details at such a time and place as this. 
Rose. When a woman marries against the wishes of 
her friends she is dead to them. When you preferred 
Hugh Gilmore to your wealth, position, family, every 
thing, you made a choice by which you must abide.” '' 

“ What were the objections to Hugh Gilmore when 
I married him ? ” 

“ There was every possible objection. He was 
poor as a cliurch mouse, with no antecedents worth 
mentioning, no prospects whatever, and in every way 
your inferior. I could never imagine what possessed 
you to be so utterly foolish as to marry such a man.” 

“I married him because I loved him. To me 
he was the embodiment of all that was good and 
noble. To have renounced him, young as I was then, 
would have been to shut out the light of day from 
my heart forever; I could not do it.” 

“ And has your life with him been happy, as you 


14 


Eoyalized. 


expected it to be? Have you found him all that 
your heart desired ? ” 

A deep crimson flush stained Mrs. Gilmore’s pale 
cheek. It was a cruel question, but the interrogator 
knew whereof she asked. The pale blue eyes scruti- 
nized the downcast face mercilessly. 

‘‘You need not answer, Rose,” she said, at length. 
“ Every thing about you tells the story. But you 
iiave only yourself to blame. A woman who is bold 
enough or foolhardy enough to marry a drunkard 
must be prepared to reap as she lias sown.” 

The dark eyes arose at this and confronted the blue 
ones steadily. 

“ Mildred, I never married a drunkard. The man 
I married was honest and fair as the daylight. He 
had not a single bad habit. His only crime in those 
days was his poverty. That he has fallen into this 
terrible evil I cannot deny, nor do I attempt it ; but 
this much I will say : it was nothing more or less than 
the attitude of my family toward us which drove my 
husband to this strait. Sickness broke him down, 
and in the long days of his enforced idleness it was 
the knowledge that he had made me an outcast from 
my father’s home, pressing him so sorely, which 
drove him at last to seek forgetfulness where thou- 
sands of others have sought it before him. It was a 
natural thing, under the circumstances, for him to 
drift into this habit. He was not born with the ap- 
petite. It was cultivated. His physicians ordered 
the continual use of stimulants, and in his weakiiQSS 
of body he yielded gradually to the habit until, be- 
fore he was aware of it, it had full control of him. 
That is how Hugh Gilmore became a drunkard. 


An Unhappy Circumstance. 


15 


After the habit was established nothing could save 
him ; but it need not have been. If at the time of 
tliat lirst illness there had been a friend to help, if 
my father had yielded his prejudice, even to the ex- 
tent of a forgiving word to break the icy silence, 
my husband might have been saved. It was the 
thing which he longed for and craved inexpressibly. 
Tliat was the tonic he needed at that time, and having 
that he could easily have dispensed with the other. 
In the extremity I wrote to my father, stating the 
case to him and beseeching him to send my husband 
just one kind word. Of course he never answered 
the letter, or noticed it in any way.” 

“ Certainly not. You understood him well enough 
to know that it was useless to entreat him. Father 
never gives up his will, and he was very angry with 
you.” 

“ He had a right to be, perhaps. I disobeyed him 
willfully. I did very wrong and have suffered bitter 
consequences; but you, Mildred — does his course 
excuse you ? ” 

‘‘ Me ! Why, I’m sure I had nothing to do with 
it. I could not have helped you.” 

Perhaps not ; but if our positions had been re- 
versed, if you had married as I did and I become the 
wdfe of a rich and influential man, do you think I 
would have left my only sister to struggle alone with 
poverty, hardship, sickness, want, and distress, without 
even a written word, in fourteen long years, to show 
that I remembered her existence ? ” 

Mrs. Whitney shifted her position uneasily. That 
quietly uttered question was the plain statement of 
an undeniable fact. It was what she had done — 


16 


Eoyalized. 


wrapped herself in a life of luxurious ease and en- 
joyment, and forgotten that it was her own sister 
who was bearing the heaviest of burdens all unhelped 
and unpitied. It was not a pleasant reflection, and 
she was glad when something caught the reproachful 
eyes, so that they left her face for an instant. 

“ Ah, there he is ! ” said Mrs. Gilmore, suddenly, a 
soft smile lighting up her lovely face. ‘‘That is my 
boy, Mildred ; my only son.” ^ 

Mrs. Whitney looked in the direction indicated, 
and beheld, to her great dismay, none other than the 
youthful miscreant whose recent rude joke had 
caused her this untimely delay. She gave a little 
cry of unfeigned horror. 

“ Eosalie Le Grande, you don’t mean that boy ! It 
cannot be possible ! ” 

The mother’s eyes took on a look of pride. 

“Yes, Mildred, that boy with the torn hat and the 
patches. He’s all the world to me. I cannot tell 
you how proud I am of him. I named him Le 
Grand. He’ll be worthy of it some day.” 

“ Le Grand ! Excuse me, Eose, but it seems like 
an insult to the sirood old name. That boy, Le 
Grand ! ” 

“That is what he was christened,” went on the 
mother, only her deepening color betraying that the 
stab had gone to her very heart of hearts ; “ we have 
always called him Grand. It is the only name he 
knows now, and it’s a good one.” 

“ Good enough, I should say, certainly,” muttered 
her sister, turning away disgustedly. 

Something in the movement loosened the flood- 
gates of the mother’s wrath. 


An Unhappy Cikcumstance. 17 

‘‘ The day may come, Mildred, when you and your 
children will consider it an honor to touch the hem 
of my boy’s garment, and I hope with all my heart it 
may not be far distant ; but until then I promise you 
that he sliall not trouble you or yours, nor will his 
mother. Allow me to bid you good -afternoon and 
good-bye.” 

She bowed coldly in the old haughty, graceful way 
which Mildred Le Grand remembered so well, and 
swept away with as regal a step as if her dingy 
brown skirt had been the train of a duchess. Mrs. 
Whitney looked after her with a glow of admiration 
which would rise in spite of her efforts to put it 
down. In this hour it was revealed to her that she 
had no cause to be ashamed of her sister, drunkard’s 
wife though she was, for through it all, the poverty, 
the wretchedness, the discouragement, and the hu- 
miliation, she was still the magnificent woman Rosa- 
lie Le Grand had promised to become, in the days of 
her brilliant and beautiful girlhood. Somehow, as 
she gazed, Mrs. Whiney felt singularly dissatisfied 
with herself. She had an uncomfortable conscious- 
ness that she did not compare well with the drunk- 
ard’s wife in her threadbare garments. She drew a 
great sigh of relief when the fine figure had swept 
itself entirely from her view. “ After all,” she con- 
gratulated herself, “ the meeting was not so bad as it 
might have been. At least the children are spared 
the mortification of knowing that that poverty- 
stricken woman is their aunt, and that dreadful boy 
their cousin ; but yet, all the same, Rosalie Gilmore 
is a queen.” 

Thus they parted, these two sisters who had not 
2 


IS 


Koyalized. 


looked upon each other’s face for fourteen years. 
At a quarter past five Mrs. Whitney, comfortably 
ensconced in a drawing-room car and sure of her 
train this time, beheld from the window the sturdy 
form of her despised nephew approaching with rapid 
strides. Le Grand leaned from the window and shook 
his fist toward him menacingly. 

‘‘ Don’t you come near us, you scalawag,” he cried. 

“ Le Grand ! ” warned his sister, sharply. The 
boy on the platform caught the word. 

‘‘ Ah, ha ! ” he laughed, taking off his hat and run- 
ning his fingers through his thick brown hair. “ So 
it’s Le Grand you are, is it, my fine fellow ? Why, 
that’s my name, or used to be. Looks as if we might 
be relations, don’t it? May be, now. I’m your great 
uncle’s grandfather’s third wife’s second cousin, or 
something ; no tollin’.” 

‘‘ Get out of my sight, or I’ll whip you within an 
inch of your life, you good-for-nothing Yankee, 
you ! ” screamed Le Grand furiously. 

A clear, hearty boyish laugh rippled over young 
Gilmore’s lips. 

no, now, sonny, I wouldn’t. Us Yanks don’t 
whip worth a cent, you know. You Southerners 
tried that game once, if I remember right. Well, 
good-bye, my lad. If you make up your mind to 
trade off them curls — ” 

The sudden ringing of the car-bell and the starting 
of the train prevented Le Grand from hearing the 
end of the sentence, and with merely a grimace at 
his tormentor he fell back into his seat. 

Mrs. Whitney turned for a parting glance at her 
nephew as they moved slowly away, and started al- 


An Unhappy Circumstance. 


19 


most visibly at what she saw. She had not fairly 
looked at the boy before. He had seemed unworthy 
her notice even after she knew whose blood was flow- 
ing through his healthy young veins. But now she 
looked at him, and looked again, leaning from the 
window with intense interest. The frank, laugliing 
face was turned full upon her, and at that moment, 
as a sunflash suddenly lighting up a shady spot will 
bring out rare and unperceived beauties, there had 
flashed over the face of this rough, uncouth street 
boy a most startling and unwelcome likeness to the 
lady^’s own father. The Le Grand stamp was upon 
the broad white forehead, the full dark intelligent 
eyes, the firm lips, and the unconsciously haughty set 
of the head. It was the face of one whom years of 
proper culture might develop into a man who would 
he able to command the respect of all the world. 

Mrs. Whitney sighed unconsciously as she turned 
from the contemplation of her sister’s son to his 
cousin, the fretful, sullen boy at her side. The 
contrast at this moment was pitiful — a dwarfed and 
puny body, a pale, sickly face with peevish discon- 
tent written all over it, from the low forehead to the 
protruding chin. 

The sound of her sister’s parting words came back 
to her like the sound of a prophecy. In vain she tried 
to put the unpleasant thought away. 

“ I am worse than the most romantic school-girl,” 
she reasoned with herself. To be so impressed by a 
pretty face ! As if Hugh Gilmore’s boy could grow 
up into any thing but a drunken rowdy ! ” 

Nevertheless she shivered a little as the train 
rushed away in the hot glow of the sunset. 


20 


Koyalized. 


II. 

A LEAF FROM THE PAST. 

*‘I had not buried then so many hopes.” 

It was yellow and faded and stained — tear- 
stained, it might have been, Honor thought, holding 
the crumpled sheet a little fartlier off and scrutiniz- 
ing it curiously in the dim, uncertain light. Surely 
it must have called for tears, that strange old letter, 
written before she was born, by the hand which had 
dashed her young mother’s life out when it penned 
tliese same cruel words. Honor saw it all now. 
Crouching down there upon the garret floor, beneath 
a dusty canopy of cobwebs, she was reading the his- 
tory of the mother over whose grave under the hill 
the daisies of sixteen summers had blossomed and 
faded. She was unraveling a tangled skein at which 
she had been tugging with impatient fingers ever 
since she was born. 

“ Why doesn’t my papa ever come?” she remem- 
bered asking on one of her lonely baby days. The 
question was a pitiful cry, wrung from a tired little 
heart that had seasons of aching for the love and 
tenderness which wrapped the lives of other children 
in such warm embrace. The answer, as it fell from 
Aunt Roxy’s stern lips, she never forgot. 

“You’ve got no papa, child. Don’t ask any more 
questions.” 


A Leaf from the Past. 


21 


She was four years old then, and easily turned 
away. She did not repeat the question until she was 
ten. Then she did, adding, before the answer came, 

“ Is my papa dead. Aunt Poxy 
“ Dead to you ; dead to every body, for aught I 
know,” snapped Aunt Poxy. 

Honor asked no more questions. But she kept 
these things and pondered them in her heart. There 
was nobody besides Aunt Poxy to ask, but she would 
know sometime, she determined, with an energetic 
nod of her wise little head. The time had come, she 
knew, and all these years the secret had lain up here, 
in this musty old garret, tucked away in the beam 
over the window. Half an hour ago Honor had come 
up here, ostensibly to hunt for some pieces of old 
cloth to put in a rug which she was knitting, really 
because the quiet, orderly monotony of tlie dull old 
sitting-room was becoming unendurable to her buoy- 
ant spirits. The garret was a favorite retreat of 
hers, especially upon a rainy day. Hour after hour 
had she spent here, curled up in a heap on the floor, 
close to the one dim, dusty window, poring over the 
pages of some thrilling romance or soul-inspiring 
poetry. The old chest over yonder was full of the 
most entrancing books. Aunt Poxy had packed 
them religiously away there yeai!s and years ago, 
before Honor’s blue eyes had ever seen the light of 
day. They were not such volumes as she (Aunt 
Poxy) was in the habit of reading, nor such as she 
would place in the hands of the young committed to 
her charge. They were too valuable to be destroyed, 
however, but packed away in the old hair trunk, 
under the eaves, they were safe from youthful eyes. 


22 


Eoyalized. 


No one would ever think of opening that. Some 
one had thought of it, though. Honor had read 
every one of those books again and again, and sighed 
for more. She had come up here to-day, thinking to 
begin The Children of the Abbey for the seventh time. 
True, she knew it almost word for word, but the tale 
could never cease to be fascinating, and then she w\as 
so weary of the rain and Aunt Eoxy. But there was 
something far more engrossing awaiting Honor’s 
eager eyes to-day. As she stopped for a moment to 
press her round white forehead against the window 
pane and look dovm the muddy, dreary road toward 
the village, there had fallen at her very feet a bit of 
a romance far surpassing in interest any thing which 
she had ever read or dreamed of before. It was 
simply an old, old letter, containing an old, old story. 
A story old as time it was, and yet to this girl, read- 
ing it for the first time, and knowing that it was 
penned by her own father’s hand, it was pitifully 
new. The honest young cheeks flushed with shame 
and indignation as she read it over the third time, 
gathering in the sad truth now, with every one of the 
faded characters. 

‘‘ I know I am a villain, Eosebud,” it read. “ I 
know the world will call me by a severer name when 
it learns my perfidy, but I cannot help it. Accus- 
tomed from my very infancy to a life of self indul- 
gence, I miscalculated my own capacity to perform 
when I pledged myself, for your sweet sake, to such 
a life as a true woman like yourself demands of her 
husband. I thought I was strong enough ; I fondly 
dreamed in those old halcyon days and nights at 
Windham that I was a new man, out of whom all 


A Leaf from the Past. 


23 


evil tendencies had forever vanislied, and to whose 
ear temptation’s luring voice might call in vain. I 
was being out of myself in those days. Wandering 
over the daisied hills with your little hand clasped 
in mine — do you remember how those daisy fields 
looked in the sheen of the moonlight, my Marguerite ? 
— I had forgotten who I was. I was exalted to the 
third heaven in my new love for you, which changed 
the world. If I had strayed always, up there in the 
shadow of the hills with you, 1 should have been 
safe, perhaps; but here in the city, surrounded on 
every side by those evils to which I have yielded all 
my life, I am as powerless to resist temptation as a 
man in mid-ocean to combat the giant waves which 
grasp after him from behind and before, with merci- 
less power in their clutch. Your sweet influence, 
potent as it was in that pure atmosphere, is swept 
away in this whirlpool, like a white daisy before a 
muddy torrent, and there’s no help for it. It’s too 
late for a man to begin after he’s twenty-five to 
govern himself. It’s a habit which must grow with 
one’s growth. If my teachers had taught me self- 
control, and taught me nothing else, they would have 
done a noble work. I might better have grown up 
the veriest ignoramus that ever breathed than the 
weak, unmanly thing I am. But it is useless to waste 
words. The wrong done cannot be undone. The 
greatest kindness I can confer on you is to rid you 
forever from my unworthy companionship. I never 
look upon your pure face without bitter self-reproach 
and shame — shame that the power to make myself 
worthy of you has passed forever out of my grasp. 
When I married you I did it honestly, believing that 


24 


Koyalized. 


with an angel at my side I could be strong, l)ut it 
was a mistake — a foolish, ignorant hope, human 
power can avail to save a man who is wholly devoid 
of the power of self-restraint. Rosebud, it is for life 
I am leaving you. Do you understand ? I am going 
away and I shall never return to you. You will not 
be destitute ; I have made over to you every cent of 
.my property, and you have your own. I go out into 
the v/orld a very beggar, and you must go back to 
the daisied hills and Aunt Roxy. 1 shall think of 
you as safe and sheltered there, and some time, it 
may be, happy. 

One word more — for the child whose face I shall 
never see. God grant that it may compensate you 
in the years to come for all you have suffered through 
me. Call its name Honor. It was my mother’s 
name, arid she bore it nobly. Teach the child first, 
last, and always to govern self. Let that principle 
be the most important branch of. its education, and 
neglect all others if necessary. Cultivate this habit 
with the most watchful care, and some day, perhaps, 
your Honor will be to your head a crown of rejoicing. 
And now. Marguerite, Rosebud, love, wife, forget me. 
It is the greatest good which I can ask for you. God 
bless you for your loving truth and devotion to me, 
and grant you years of glad sunshine which shall 
wholly obliterate the cloud cast over your young 
life by 

“ Your unworthy husband, Reginald Leroy.” 

Honor folded up the sheet at length, crushing it in 
her hands as if she would like to crush the writer 
likewise. Her great violet gray eyes were luminous 

ty 


25 


A Leaf from the Past. 

with passion-. It is well for -n^or, Eeginald Leroy,” 
she said, speaking aloud in her fierce anger — “ it is 
well for you that the child whom you dared to name 
Honor had no.^ heen a boy instead of a weak girl. 
With my Sfdnt I would have followed you to the 
ends of the earth and compelled you to answer to 
me for tlie insult to my mother, a deserted wife ! 
Ah, I understand now why Aunt Kox said I had no 
papa. I have none. A man who acknowledges him- 
self incapable of self-restraint, and yet capable of 
breaking a woman’s heart, is no father of mine. 
Living or dead, I will never forgive him — never ; and 
if ever the day comes when I have the shadow of an 
opportunity, I will be revenged on him as surely as I 
have read this letter.” 

She threw open the window as she spoke, and 
leaned out, letting the cold rain beat mercilessly upon 
her uncovered head. The air of the old garret had 
grown stifling — all the world had grown stifling. 
To this proud young spirit nothing could have 
been more humiliating than this revelation of 
a father’s weakness. Born and reared among 
the cold Hew England hills, she had been imbued 
with the sturdy spirit of her ancestry — the stanch, 
honorable spirit which came over in the May- 
flower^ and seemed almost to have imprinted itself 
upon the granite rocks and sown itself in the rugged 
soil. From hilLtop to hill-top, from the daisied 
meadows to the white-capped sea, the grand old song 
of freedom had echoed and re-echoed. Honor Leroy 
had read of it and dreamed of it and sung of it with 
glowing cheeks, eyes radiant, and a heart that beat in 
tumultuous accord. She had dreamed herself a hero- 


26 


Eoyalized. 


ine, rejoicing in her quaint, old-fashioned name as 
the heritage of a noble and honorable race. She had 
exulted in the thought that no drop of coward blood 
coursed through her veins, and lo! over the ruddy 
hres of her honest young enthusiasm there had swept 
this cold and bitter rain. Her very being had sprung 
from one who confessed himself the weakest thing 
on earth, the most abject slave that ever wore 
shackles. Honor’s fresh lips curled scornfully. She 
had always felt a certain degree of contempt for even 
a child who had no power of self-control. For a 
man — a strong, active man — she had no words to ex- 
press the indignation which surged over in tempestu- 
ous waves at the thought. Casting the twisted sheet 
down upon the floor she set her heel upon it with 
a fierce gesture of anger and contempt, but the 
stormy light died out of her eyes in the next instant, 
and she laid her head upon the window-sill wearily. 

“ Honor ! ” she sighed. “ Such a man should call 
his child Z>i^honor. Such a man has no right to ex- 
pect any thing of his descendants but wrong and 
wretchedness and sin ! ” 

Strange, extravagant, foolish, melodramatic acts, 
do you say ? Yes ; but the speaker is very young, 
only sixteen, ^nd the face lying upon the damp win- 
dow-sill is fresh and ruddy as the face of a child. 
Youthful fancies are overwrought and unnatural 
oftentimes ; youthful hearts are bold and high- 
strung. But who should say that, though woefully 
intolerant of human weakness, perhaps, they are not 
in their freshness and purity nearer heaven than in 
the years when worldly wisdom has left its heavy 
impress upon them? With the rosy mist of early 


A Leaf from the Past. 


27 


morning hanging over fountain and flower, the world 
is beautiful as a dream of paradise. Afterward, when 
thefiercS heats of noonday have scorched and withered 
all that was fair and fresh and lovely, we behold only 
the dull glare. It is the same sun, it is the same world, 
but the eyes which look upon them now have been 
overpowered. They have felt their own weakness and 
they droop. Honor Leroy, in the bravery of these 
early years, has found life very fair. She has built 
her' castles grandly, towering them to the very skies. 
She has peopled them nobly, allowing nothing im- 
pure, untrue, or unsightly to enter the golden doors. 
She has known as yet only the music and the dress 
parade. The wearisome march, the din and noise of 
battle, the fierce, hard struggle, the wounds, the 
groaning, and the anguish, are all a hidden part of 
the drama. They will open before her soon enough. 
The race is not always to the swift, nor the battle to 
the strong, and it may be those who have kept light- 
est step to the music who will march into battle with 
the most valiant tread. . 


28 


lioYALIZED. 


III. 

MR. ALONZO FITZSIMMONS. 

“I think the boy hath grace in him. He blushes.” 

The shadows were gathering thick and fast in the 
old garret wdien Honor came back from the vague 
past to the dull, cold, real present. She raised her 
head, shivering with a sudden chill as she glanced 
somewhat superstitiouslj into the dark corners. 
She was not a timid young person. She had never 
been afraid of the dark before, but to-night phan- 
toms from the dead past seemed confronting her 
at every point. She closed the window hastily, and 
ran down the long, steep stairs with nimble feet. The 
small remnant of daylight was vanishing rapidly when 
she reached the lower hall. The rain still continued 
to dash mercilessly against the window. The wind 
moaned wearily as it swept through the great, leafless 
trees upon the lawn. Honor paused a moment with 
her hand on the knob of the sitting-room door. There 
was nothing very inviting inside — nothing but Aunt 
Roxy and the old gray cat, and the prospect of a long, 
dull evening. 

Something else was there to-night, though. The 
ruddy firelight revealed the strangest picture which 
the old room had seen for many a day. An old, 
old man was warming his hands over the cheerful 
blaze, and conversing garrulously, meanwhile, with 


Mr. Alonzo Fitzsimmons. 


29 


Aunt Roxy, who listened with open month and 
distended ej^es. The oddest specimen of an old 
man he was that Honor had ever beheld. She bent 
her head involuntarily to conceal a smile as her 
eyes took in the grotesque figure. The long hair and 
beard were silvery white. Immense blue glasses hid 
the eyes, and there was a great hump upon the shoul- 
ders. The dress displayed an evident attempt at gen- 
tility. A swallow-tailed coat of fine broadcloth par- 
tially covered the coarse corduroy pantaloons, and a 
huge watch-chain glittered conspicuously in the fire- 
light, while a pair of yellow kid gloves concealed the 
hands which were spread out before the genial heat. 

“ Good-evening, miss,” ejaculated this strange per- 
sonage, pausing long enough to lift his hand to his 
forehead and sweep it courteously toward Honor as 
she entered. ‘‘ You behold in me Alonzo Fitzsim- 
mons, of Boston, late counselor-at-law with the firm 
of Hilton Brothers of that city. Ill health and strait- 
ened circumstances obliged me to remove with my 
family to the adjacent town of Slippery Elm Hollow, 
where we took up our quarters only last week. My 
wife, who is quite aged, now lies at home very ill of 
a fever. Having learned of the amiable qualities and 
charitable inclinations of this estimable lady, your 
grandmother, I presume, I made bold to come to her 
for assistance in my trying situation, and she has most 
graciously consented to grant me, not only her kindly 
advice and sympathy, but also her presence at my 
humble home.” 

To this singular harangue Honor listened, thor- 
oughly amazed. The whole thing was uttered rap- 
idly, mechanically, as if the speaker were reciting a 


30 


Eoyalized. 


part which he had learned most perfectly. The words 
were accompanied with sweeping gestures of the right 
hand and an occasional tap of the foot. Honor looked 
curiously at Aunt Roxy. How was she taking this 
strange invasion upon her quiet home ? Evidently 
her sympathies were fully aroused. She arose from 
her chair and folded up her knitting energetically, 
meeting the half-curious, half-laughing glance of the 
girl’s eyes with something like a frown. 

Very well, my good man,” she said, addressing 
the stranger in a tone that was kinder than her wont, 
“ I will go home with you at once. Honor, you run 
up-stairs and get a bundle of flannel out of the low- 
est drawer of my bureau, and bring that bottle of cam- 
phire that stands on the mantletry. Make haste, 
now.” 

Honor stared at her blankly. 

‘‘ Surely, Aunt Roxy, you are not going to-night ! ” 
Surely I am. Don’t stop to talk, child. Do as I 
tell you.” 

‘‘ But, Aunt Roxy, it’s fully two miles to Slippery 
Elm Hollow, and in this rain and mud ! Besides, it’s 
going to be dark as Egypt.” 

‘‘ It don’t rain so hard now. I shouldn’t wonder a 
mite if it cleared off bright starlight by nine o’clock. 
Any how, I’m going. Nobody shall ever say that 
Roxana Hill refused to ’tend to a sick neighbor be- 
cause of a few drops of rain. I’ve knowed the day 
when I’ve walked four good miles to set up with the 
sick and dying, and I can do it again if necessary. 
Come, come, child, don’t bender me now. Fetch them 
.. ..^things right straight.”- 

But Honor did not move. 

i 


Mr. Alonzo Fitzsimmons. 


31 


“ What do you propose to do wit^h me ? ” she asked. 

“ With you? Nothing as I know of.” 

“ John and Hannah are both away. I can’t stay 
here alone.” 

You can’t ? When did you get to be a coward, 
Honor Leroy ? I never knew you to be afeared of 
any thing before.” 

“ I wouldn’t be hired to stay here alone to-night,” 
said Honor, shivering. 

“Well then, miss,” observed the stranger suavely, 
“ I would suggest that you accompany us to Slippery 
Elm Hollow. It is not such a bad evening as you 
think. Indeed, I rather enjoyed the walk over here.” 

The deformed shoulders shook a little convulsively 
he spoke the last words, but all of the face that was 
visible was very grave. 

A sudden suspicion struck Honor. She drew 
nearer and scanned the old man keenly from head to 
foot. Aunt Roxy turned upon her somewhat severely 
at this. 

“ Honor Leroy, have you lost your manners as Nvell 
as your common sense ? I never knowed you to be- 
have so before. Did you hear me tell you to fetch 
them flannels and the camphire ? And then, if you’re 
such a baby that you can’t stay alone, you’ll have to 
go along, I s’pose; so you may as w^ell get ready. 
Put on your thick sack, and don’t forget your over- 
shoes. Now hurry along. The man don’t want to 
wait all night.” 

Honor turned away with lips that twitched a little 
in spite of her efforts to control them. It promised 
to be rather rich. She would never have dared, but 
this was none of her w^ork, and there would be one 


32 


Royalized. 


less of those long evenings to be endured. She hur- 
ried away to obey Aunt Roxy’s behest, shaking with 
laughter as slie went. Perhaps it wasn’t just right. 
It was a long walk through the wet and darkness, and 
Aunt Roxy was growing old, and suffered with rheu- 
matism ; but then, nonsense ! it would be as good as 
a play. She snatched the roll of flannel and the cam- 
jflior bottle, and ran down-stairs with them, striving 
to maintain an expression of gravity. Aunt Roxy 
stood in the doorway, muffled to her very eyes, her 
skirts tucked carefully up, and her feet incased in an 
immense pair of rubber boots. Honor gave one 
glance at the exceedingly ludicrous figure, and then, 
involuntarily, her eyes turned toward the old man, 
who was holding the door open, courteously, for her 
to pass out. Still the blue glasses hid his eyes and 
the gray beard his lips, but there was a percept- 
ible contortion of the shoulders, and, corning nearer, 
she caught a sound which was very much like a 
smothered giggle. It was very dark outside, and the 
rain was still falling steadily. What a shame it was ! 

“ Aunt Roxy,” began Honor suddenly, and then 
she stopped. Where was the use ? Ho great harm 
could come of it. The old lady could never take cold 
through such a barricade of wraps as that in which 
she had enveloped herself. 

Aunt Roxy lifted her lantern from the floor, and 
swung it before her energetically. 

“ If you’re going. Honor, get on your things this 
minute. If you’re not going shut the door and light 
the lamp.” 

Honor’s scruples vanished like the wind, and, hav- 
ing dismissed them, her spirits rose accordingly. This 


Mr. Alonzo Fitzsimmons. 


33 


little episode was a wholesome break in the monotony 
of her life. She tlirew on her wraps hastily, and fol- 
lowed Aunt Roxy and her strange attendant out into 
the rainy night. 

“ Allow me, madam, the pleasure of escorting you 
to my humble home,” the old man said courteously, 
offering his arm with as stately a grace of manner as 
if Aunt Roxy had been a Broadway belle. She hesi- 
tated an instant. She was thankful that the darkness 
hid the blush which stained her thin cheeks. 

‘‘ I’ve never been in the habit of dependin’ on no 
man livin’ for support,” she said confusedly ; “ but 
it’s so dark 1 don’t know but I will take your arm, 
Mr. Fitzsimmons.” 

Honor observed that the blue spectacles had been 
surreptitiously removed from Mr. Fitzsimmons’s eyes 
immediately upon leaving the house, and that bis form 
assumed a more upright position and his step grew 
singularly firm and buoyant. 

“ I trust that you, miss, have no need of my poor 
assistance,” he remarked, turning half about to nod 
his head patronizingly toward Honor. “ Ho danger of 
your young feet stumbling if it were twice as dark.” 

“ Hone at all,” was the laconic reply. She was 
taking note of the real care and attention which the 
strange being was bestowing upon his companion as 
he led her through the rainy darkness. 

Hever, even in the sunny days of her far-away 
girlhood, had Aunt Roxy been favored with so pains- 
taking an escort as this. The umbrella was held at 
just the proper angle, the lantern swung before her 
with scrupulous exactness, and the bad places in the 
road carefully avoided. 

3 


34 


Royalized. 


“ He certainly is possessed of the elements of a 
gentleman, whoever he is,” decided Honor, as she 
trudged along behind the pair on that strange tramp. 

What a night it was ! The rain and the darkness 
were inci’easing at every step. The light from the 
lantern shone only a rod or two ahead. Beyond that 
all was shrouded in a dense mist. Honor’s spirits 
began to flag. It w^as such a ridiculous, unheard-of 
thing, this trudging tlirough mud, ankle deep, two 
long miles, in a pouring rain — for nothing. 

• “ Suppose we go back and wait until morning. 
Aunt Boxy,” she ventured meekly, after they had 
proceeded nearly a mile. “ It’s an awful night. 
Surely ,you are excusable.” 

“ I don’t give up no battle after it’s half fit,” inter- 
rupted Aunt Boxy, putting down her rubber boots 
firmly ; “ besides, I’ve learned never to put ofi till to- 
morrow what can be done to-day.” 

‘‘ But it GarCt be done to-day,” continued impatient 
Honor. 

“ It can be done to-night, though, and it will be 
done to-night or I’ll know the reason why. It shall 
never be said of Boxana Hill that she neglected a 
sick neighbor for a few drops of rain.” 

How far does your neighborhood extend ? ” asked 
Honor satirically. 

‘‘Jest as far as I’ve a mind to make it. If you 
don’t want to go you’re at liberty to turn around and 
go home, but you’ll never turn me when my liead’s 
sot in the path of duty. So you may jest as well 
shet right up in that subject.” 

Thus adjured. Honor closed her lips tightly. At 
least she had done her duty. She had endeavored to 


Mr. Alonzo Fitzsimmons. 


35 


put a stop to tlie foolisli procedure. F[ow she would 
see it on in silence to the bitter end. - 

The end was reached at last — the end of what 
seemed to Honor the longest journey she had ever 
taken. Her patience was worn threadbare when the 
old man halted, at length, before a little rickety gate. 
A little beyond it a glimmer of light shone through 
the trees. A very weak, faint glimmer it was, but 
Honor’s searching gaze soon discovered the outlines 
of a window, and then a door. 

“ Allow me, ladies, the pleasure of introducing you 
to my humble home and family;” and witli these 
’ceremonious words they were ushered into a room 
the squalor and meanness of which exceeded any 
thing that their eyes had ever beheld or their imagina- 
tions pictured. The light of the little candle, dim as 
it was, was sufficient to reveal the whole pitiful 
truth — a drunkard’s home. Honor took it in at a 
glance. In the very center of the room a man was 
lying on tlie floor asleep — a man whose bloated feat- 
. ures and lialf-open, bleared, and bloodshot eyes bore 
undeniable testimony to his pitiable condition. Be- 
yond that, the room was full of young faces. At the 
table, bending so close to the tallow dip that the 
flame almost scorched her long light curls, a girl was 
sitting with a yellow-covered volume in her hand. 
She might have been anywhere from fifteen to seven- 
teen years of age. In the dim light she looked older. 
Her dress was white, ruffled to the waist and plenti- 
fully adorned with tawdry red ribbons. Her eyes 
were of the palest blue, and her features insipid, 
though not wliolly devoid of refinement. Indeed, 
under some circumstances, she might have been con- 


36 


HOYALIZED. 


sidered very pretty, witli her delicate skin and white 
hands ; but here, in the iinsuitableness of her attire 
to her surroundings and her vain, flippant expression 
of countenance, she was not a pleasant object. Hang- 
ing over the back of her chair were two little girls 
with tangled hair and pinched faces holding crusts of 
bread in their lingers, at which they munched hun- 
grily. Another girl, a little older than these, sat upon 
a stool close to the rusty old stove, bending over a 
two-year-old baby in her lap, whose pitiful moans 
she was trying in vain to hush. There was a sweet 
motherliness about this child’s face which rendered 
it indescribably lovely. It shone out like a star in the 
wretched gloom of these woeful surroundings. The 
pure forehead, the chiseled features, and the rare 
coloring were simply exquisite. It was like finding 
a pearl in a rubbish heap. 

At the opening of the door, these five young faces 
had turned simultaneously, and five pairs of eyes 
stared in wonder and affright at the strange trio who 
entered, all uninvited, upon their squalid quarters. 
,The two little ones dropped down behind their sis- 
ter’s chair, grasping each other’s hands fearfully, 
while the girl at the stove hugged her baby closer 
her great dark eyes wild with terror. But the older 
sister, after a prolonged stare, arose and came forward 
smiling broadly. Aunt Boxy had been looking from 
one to the other of this unexpected group in great 
bewilderment. 

‘‘What does this mean?” she asked, turning to 
Mr. Fitzsimmons appealingly. “I don’t see no sick 
w'oman nowhere, and you didn’t tell me you had all 
this raft o’ grandchildren. ’Pears like you must 


Mr. Alonzo Fitzsimmons, 


37 


’a’ mistook the house and blundered in where you 
had no business.” 

‘‘Aunt Eoxy, do take off your hood and veil,” 
whispered, Honor. “ Don’t you see you are frighten- 
ing the children out of their senses! You have no 
idea how strange you look.” 

“ May I assist you to remove your cloak, madam ? ” 
asked Mr. Fitzsimmons, proceeding gallantly to re- 
move the long, wet wrap from her shoulders. 

While he was thus engaged, the girl, who had been 
gazing at him intently, darted quickly forward and 
with an adroit movement laid a firm grasp upon the 
gray hair and beard. It yielded to her vigorous 
twitch, and lo, Mr. Fitzsimmons stood transformed! 
The head thus rudely exposed was fair and young 
like her own. The damp hair, curling loosely upon a 
fine white forehead, shone goldenly in the candle- 
light. The face was that of a boy, at most not over 
fourteen years old. He turned angrily upon his as- 
sailant and made a dash at her with his cane, but she 
slipped out of his reach, laughing scornfulljL 

“ Didn’t quite come it, now, did you, sonnie? You 
take the cake, no doubt, but you can’t put up no such 
job as this on your grandmother.” 

Aunt Koxy was staring through her spectacles, ut- 
terly transfixed with amazement and indignation. 

“ What does this mean ? ” she managed to ejaculate 
at length, glancing severely from one to the other of 
the faces about her, each of which, not excepting 
Honor’s, was convulsed now with laughter. 

“ I’m afraid it means, madam, that you have been 
dreadfully imposed upon,” said the girl with the curls, 
coolly resuming her seat and the volume. 


38 


Koyalized. 


“Wlio is that boy?” continued Aunt Roxy, point- 
ing a rigid forefinger toward the quondam Mr. Fitz- 
simmons, who had removed his blue spectacles, and 
now stood, with a somewhat sheepish expression of 
countenance, staring out of the small window. 

“That boy is my brother. Grand.” 

“ Grand ! I should think so ! Humph ! ” 

“Yes, ’most every body thinks he’s grand — a 
grand rascal, that is. That’s all the grand he’ll ever 
be. Wont you sit down, ma’am?” 

“I should desire to know,” pursued Aunt Roxy, 
disregarding the invitation, “what earthly object 
that boy had in dragging an old woman off two miles 
over shoe-top in mud on sich a night as this. If you 
can answer me that, I’ll be obleeged to you.” 

“ Pure cussedness, madam, that’s all. I s’pose he 
wanted something to liven up his spirits a bit. This 
is an old trick of his. You’re not the first one he’s led 
such a train. “ He’s always up to some tomfoolery 
or other. I’m sorry you got taken in, ma’am.” 

“ Is there no sick woman here, then ? ” 

“Hone as I know of. There’s a sick man, if you 
please,” pointing to the floor with something like a 
sneer disfiguring her pretty mouth. 

“So I perceive,” said Aunt Roxy drily. “Well, 
young man,” turning to the boy, who still stood 
twirling his hat awkwardly in his hand, and staring 
out into the darkness evidently somewhat ill at ease, 
“ would you be so good as to explain your most ex- 
traordinary conduct? I would like to understand jest 
what you mean by sich doin’s.” 

“ I don’t know as I mean any thing,” he said, con- 
fronting her with a sort of forced bravado. 


Mr. Alonzo Fitzsimmons. 39 

“Well, then, sir,’’ went on Aunt Foxy, cutting her 
words with sarcastic shortness, “ if yon don’t mean 
any thing, be so good as to inform me what under the 
shinin’ sun you come sneakin’ into my house for, in 
sich regimentals as them, your face all covered with 
sich trash as that, and lied to me as you’ve been 
a lyin’ a stiddy streak for inore’n an hour. What 
possessed you ? That’s what I’d like to know.” 

“ I did it for fun,” said the boy weakly. 


40 


Royalized. 


lY. 

ONE OF THESE LITTLE ONES. 

“ The rose of sunset folds its glory up, 

To burst again from out the heart of dawn.” 

“ For fun ! ” ejaculated Aunt Roxy, in a voice 
which fairly trembled with its intensity. The whole 
truth rushed over her like a torrent suddenly let loose. 
For fun ! She had been the dupe, then, the weak, 
credulous dupe, of this low, miserable, unprincipled 
boy, the offspring of that wretched being who still 
lay in his drunken sleep, wholly regardless of the 
scene which was being enacted about him ! Indig- 
nation, shame, regret, self-reproach, all struggled to- 
gether in the honest old soul. Educated as tliis 
woman had been from her earliest childhood to the 
strictest regard for integrity and straightforwardness 
of conduct,, the revelation of a character so unprinci- 
pled as this appeared was almost overpowering. The 
trick practiced upon her displayed such utter lawless- 
ness, such a lack of any thing like respect, honesty, 
or even common decency, it was simply outrageous. 
It was taking a base advantage of a person’s higher 
nature. She should have been more wary, or shrewd- 
er, perhaps ; but she was not trained in this kind of 
wisdom. The people in her little w'orld were honest 
as the day. How could she be expected to understand 
the signs of deception and intrigue ? 


One of These Little Ones. 


41 


“ At least you might have suspected this, Honor,” 
she said, turning to look with an injured air into the 
face which was struggling to regain its composure. 

“ Why, I did suspect. Aunt Roxy. Don’t you re- 
member how I tried to persuade you against starting ? 
I was sure it v/as a trick of some sort.” 

“ You was very careful not to say so, I remember.” 

“ It would have done no good, and only brouglit 
me a scolding for such injustice to Mr. Fitzsimmons.” 

Yes, it would. There was no gainsaying that. Why, 
she had not entertained the shadow of a suspicion that 
the suppliant who had so strongly wrought upon her 
sympathies was other than what he represented him- 
self to be — a feeble old man with a sick and suffering 
wife — and she would deeply have resented an endeavor 
on the part of any one to disabuse her mind of its 
impression ; and lo ! she had waded out here, through 
all these disadvantages, to gratify tlie fun-loving 
propensities of this young rascal, and she must wade 
back again. A four-miles tramp, through storm 
and darkness, for nothing ! The thought was insup- 
portable ! 

All, Aunt Roxy, Aunt Roxy, have you forgotten 
that the good Father above, ^ wdiose great eye, in 
sweeping the universe from end to end, fails not to 
notice the fall of a sparrow, has not failed to notice 
this loving deed of yours and smile upon it, not in 
scorn but in gracious approval, because it was prompt- 
ed by the heart of a true disciple who hesitated not 
to go willingly upon its errand of mercy ? Yet this 
whole-souled woman, like many another true disciple, 
had lost sight altogether of the fact that in doing this 
hard thing she had done it unto Him, inasmuch as she 


42 


Royalized. 


had intended it for one of the least of his. And it 
was the very recollection of her own zealous kindness 
and eager desire which galled her most sorely, since 
it had made her the victim of this foolish practical 
joke. Aunt Roxy had no sympathy with this sort of 
thing. From her youth up she had been a model of 
strict sobriety and circumspectness. There had been 
no childish nonsense, no frolicking, and very little 
laughter in her austere and somewhat lonely life. 
The audacity of the boy’s deed was beyond her con- 
ception. It almost took her breath. 

“ Well, you young villain,” she burst out, recover- 
ing her speech at last, and turning upon the boy with 
such a blaze -of indignation in her eyes that he shrank 
in spite of himself, ‘‘you good-for-nothing, imper- 
dent rascal, you ought to be beat within an inch of 
your life ; and if ever 1 hear of your tryin’ sich a 
game as this on any other unpertected female I’ll 
have you arrested and sent to a reform school or house 
of correction, or some other place. It’s what I’d 
ought to do now, you outrageous scoundrel, you.” 

The only effect which this outburst produced upon- 
the boy w’as to set him once more at his ease. He 
was evidently accustomed to this style of criticism. 
He drew back a step or two and made the irate lady 
a sweeping bow and courtesy. 

“ Mr. Alonzo Fitzsimmons, madam, regrets deeply 
to perceive the disturbed condition of your mind. 
The evening was so charming I really thought you 
would enjoy—” 

Aunt Roxy’s forbearance had reached its limit. 
She darted forward with a blind impulse to seize and 
shake the breath out of him ; but, quick as a flash, he 


One of These Little Ones. 


43 


threw open the window and vaulted over the sill, 
calling back, in a voice choked with laughter, 

“ I regret to say, madam, that Mr. Fitzsimmons, 
unlike other evil doses, has to be well taken before 
being shaken.” 

Aunt Roxy stared through the window into the 
darkness which hid her tormentor, a dazed expression 
settling over her sharp features. 

“ Well, of all the audacious creetufs that ever I laid 
eyes on this is the cap-shea t' ! ” she ejaculated, sinking 
into a chair helplessly. 

‘‘ He is just that, ma’am,” said the oldest sister 
placidly, shaking out her tawdry ruffles and adjusting 
her curls. “ There aint many that can get ahead of 
him in deviltry.” 

“ He’ll live to be hung,” said Aunt Roxy solemnly. 
‘‘ Mark my words ! ” 

“ He won’t, either ! ” The words, spoken in a low, 
sharp, but decidedly musical voice, caine from the girl 
wdio held the baby. There was a frown upon the 
fair forehead now, and the fine eyes shone resentfully 
from out the dusky corner. Aunt Roxy turned upon 
her severely. 

“ He’s the worst boy I ever knew,” she said. 

Do you know him ? ” asked the child quietly. 

“ I know all I want to know of him, and that’s 
very little. What on earth’s the matter with that 
baby?” 

At this question the frown vanished instantly from 
the sister’s face, and its old expression of earnest solic- 
itude returned. 

“ I don’t know, ma’am. He’s been crying this 
way all day. I can’t quiet him. There, there, baby. 


44 


Eoya^lized. 


Hush, darling ! Sister’ll walk with him, so she 
will.” 

Aunt Eoxy stepped forward, took the candle from 
the table, and held it close to the baby’s face. It was 
white and wan. The big dark eyes were heavy, and 
tliere was a blue line about the pale little lips. The 
fair round head rolled incessantly from side to side. 

She set the candle down again, and hastily removed 
her hood and shawl. 

“ ]^ow, let me take him,” she said, holding out her 
arms. With a great sigh of relief the child yielded 
up her precious burden. The weary little arms had 
not been free before that day. 

‘‘ Now, then,” said Aunt Eoxy briskly, you girls 
must make up a good, smart tire here, right off, and 
get some water on to heat. This baby’s very sick. 
Honor, you go to work and help ’em, and then hand 
me them flannels. It’s lucky I brought the catnip. 
Now be spry, all of you ; there’s no time to be lost.” 

Truly there was no time to be lost. Honor, look- 
ing into the little face, saw, even with her unskilled 
eye, that the baby feet were treading very near 
to the mysterious boundary line wdiich separates ran- 
somed souls from their heaven. In a little while it. 
would be too late to keep the white soul on this side. 

“ It is well we came, after all,” she said invol- 
untarily. 

“ Yes ; God moves in a mysterious way, bless his 
name ! Don’t stop to talk now, child. This young 
one must have a warm bath 'right away. Them girls 
don’t know how to fix that fire no more than nothin’. 
You jest take hold and do it yourself. Get a good 
blaze. The room aint half warm.” 


One of These Little Ones. 


45 


I wish you would tell me your names,” said 
Honor, taking tlie kindlings from the girls’ hands 
and arranging them in a light, even pile over the dy- 
ing embers. 

“ I’m Belle and she’s Birdie,” said the elder sister 
* shortly. She was not altogether pleased with these 
bustling Yankee ways. 

“Birdie ? ” repeated Honor, applying a match to 
the kindlings. “ What’s her real name ? ” 

“It’s Birdie Gilmore ; that’s all the real name she 
has.” 

“ But Birdie is only a nickname. There must be 
something else.” 

“ It’s the only name she’s got, or ever will have, I 
guess.” 

“ Mother named me,” said the child, crossing over 
to where the baby lay tossing restlessly on Aunt 
Roxy’s broad lap. “ She never called me any thing else.” 

“Is your mother dead ?” asked Aunt Roxy. 

“ Yes. She died when baby was born, nearly two 
years ago.” 

“Was she a good woman, your mother ?” 

“ Good ! She was lovely. She was like the 
angels ! ” 

“ Humph ! Hard living for an angel in such a 
hole as this. That’s your father, I s’pose?” indi- 
cating with a wave of her hand the blear-eyed man 
upon the floor. 

“Yes. He’s not so bad as you think, ma’am. He 
never was ugly to mother.” 

“I s’pose not. Hever struck her, or kicked or 
abused her, most likely ; but he killed her, all the 
same, I expect.” 


46 


E-oyalized. 


“ Killed liQi* ! Ko, lie didn’t ! ” and again the 
child’s eyes flashed indignantly. 

There’s more ways of killin’ than stabbin’ and 
pisonin’, child. There's a way of grindin’ the life 
out of a body by inches, and it’s the way drunkards’ 
wives gets killed mostly. Who took care of this 
child after its mother’s death ? ” 

“ I did.” 

Y on ! How old are you ? ” 

‘‘Nearly thirteen.” 

“ Then you was eleven when it was born. A pret- 
ty age to have the charge of a young baby. What’s 
the matter with your sister ? ” 

“ Belle don’t love babies.” 

“ She don’t ! What does she love ? Herself ? ” 

“ Oh, she loves to read, and she loves pretty things. 
She used to have pretty dresses when we lived in the 
city, and she wore ’em every day, but she don’t care 
how she looks here. She says there's nobody to see.” 

“Nobody to see? Good land, child! you don’t 
mean to say she spent her time gaddin’ about the 
streets and left you with that baby ? Who takes care 
of the house ? ” 

“Nobody.” 

“ Takes care of itself, I s’pose. I’ve heerd of sich 
homes before. Well, it’s a pity. Have you got a 
clean dress to put on the baby ? ” 

“Yes, he’s got lots of things.” 

She darted away to an old closet which stood in a 
corner of the room and produced a baby’s slip. Aunt 
Boxy felt its fine texture and held it up to the light. 
It was of the most delicate material, beautifully 
tucked and embroidered. , 


OF These Little Ones. 


47 


“There mast liavebeen gentle blood in that mother 
somehow,” mused Aunt Roxy, as tenderly lifting the 
baby from his warm bath she proceeded to robe him 
in soft, clean garments. 

“Hadn’t your ma no relations, child?” she asked, 
turning curiously to look into Birdie’s lovely face 
ai>:ain. 

“ Yes, she had,” put in Belle, interrupting what 
her sister might have said. “ She caine of one of the 
best families in the land. She was aLe Grand. Her 
father owned one of the finest places on the Hudson 
River, and when she was young slie lived like a queen. 
She had her fine carriage and her servants, and her 
elegant dresses, and her jewels, and hosts of company 
from the city, coming and going every day. She was 
a beauty and a belle. She never ceased to be a 
beauty. She must have been exquisite when she was 
young.” 

“ And what brought her to this ? ” 

“ Marriage with that creature,” said the girl, a bale- 
ful light gathering in her blue eyes, as she pointed to 
her father. “ She ran away to marry him, and that 
was the end of her fine life. She never knew a happy 
hour since her marriage. She did not say so. She 
never complained or spoke ill of him, but I know his 
doingsVorried her to death. Her father never spoke 
to her or looked at her after she went away. He 
forbade her the house, and would not allow any mem- 
ber of the family to' recognize her, and none of them 
ever did. Her father is living yet, and she has a 
sister in the South. They are as rich as Croesus, all 
of them, and we — you see what we are.” 

“ How long have you lived here, child ? ” 


48 


Royalized. 


‘‘Only a week. It’s a dreadful place. We lived 
in a cellar in the city, but it was better than this, be- 
cause one could go out and see the sights. There’s 
nothing to see here. Bah ! I hate it.” 

“ I should think there was something to see to,” 
said Aunt Roxy, grimly. “With a house full of 
children, and a baby besides, a girl of your age ought 
to find something to do without racing the streets. 
It’s plain to see this baby’s had no attention.” 

“ O yes, he has,” said Belle carelessly. “ Birdie 
hardly ever lets him go out of her arms. I couldn’t 
be bothered with a baby — dragging him every-where. 
Birdie’s always content enough to stay at home.” 

“ Only Sundays,” put in Birdie, her eyes growing 
big and luminous. “ I always went to church to hear 
the music. I took him with me there. He loved the 
music, too. He’d open his eyes ever so wide, and 
laugh and clap his hands, just the minute the organ 
began to play. The old sexton always let me come 
in, and gave me a good seat, because he liked to see 
Baby’s eyes shine. We had lots of fun, didn’t we, 
darling?” She leaned over to kiss the pretty face 
which was lying quietly now upon Aunt Roxy’s 
shoulder. 

“ How still he is,” said the little sister, gratefully. 
“ He’s been crying all day. I didn’t know what in 
the world to do for him. I never thought of his 
being sick.” 

‘‘ Hid you ever think of his dying ? ” asked Aunt 
Roxy, in a constrained voice. 

“ Hying ! ” cried Belle, springing forward with a 
look of horror upon her fair face. “Hying! ” 

Birdie stretched out her arms with an impulsive 


One of These Little Ones. 


49 


movement, as if to snatch the little form from Aunt 
Roxy’s clasp, but they dropped to her side again. The 
plain old face into which she looked was very kind. 

“ You can’t mean sUch a cruel thing,” she said 
huskily. 

“ What makes it cruel ? Haint the good Lord better 
able to take care of this little tender thing than you 
children be?” 

‘‘But we don’t want him to,” cried Birdie, clasping 
her hands tight. “ Baby’s all I’ve got ; I couldn’t live 
without him.” 

“I should think you had enough left,” said Aunt 
Roxy, looking a|)out the disordered room to the corner 
where the two little girls had cuddled themselves up, 
asleep with their cheeks upon their hands. “Why 
don’t one of you put them children to bed?” 

“ O, we’ve got no beds up yet,” said Belle. “We 
sleep anywhere; it’s too much trouble to fix beds 
for the little time we shall stay here. It wont be 
long; we don’t stay anywhere more than a month. 
Father don’t pay the rent, and so the landlord pitches 
us out. That’s why we came in the country. But say, 
now, you don’t mean there’s any danger of Baby’s 
dying?” 

“There’s every danger in the world,” said Aunt 
Roxy, sternly. “You can’t expect a delicate plant 
like this to live without care.” 

“ There’s hope yet,” said Honor, hastily, pitying the 
agony which she saw in Birdie’s white face. “ Why 
don’t you send for the doctor. Aunt Roxy ? ” 

“Ho earthly use. I know jest as much about these 
things as any doctor livin’. It was God that sent me 
here to-night, though he sent me too late to save life. 

4 


50 


Koyalized. 


This child’s past human help ; ’twont be here by 
mornin’.” 

There was a smothered exclamation, a sort of quick, 
hard gasp behind her, and every one turning, startled, 
beheld the boy. Grand, who had stolen in unperceived, 
and stood looking at the baby, his face blanched to 
the lips. 

“ Is it true — what you say ? ” he asked chokingly. 
‘‘Is the baby — ” he stopped abruptly. He could 
not say dying. 

Aunt Hoxy turned the little wan face about, that 
he might see it more distinctly. It was very quiet. 
The eyes were half open and the breath came flutter- 
ing from between the white lips. She took one of 
the tiny hands and laid it against the brother’s cheek- 
It was growing cold. 

“ The little lamb’s almost reached the upper fold,” 
she said, tears welling into her eyes. “ He’ll be safe 
in Jesus’s arms soon.” This last bit of comfort fell 
from her lips involuntarily. There was.no feeling in 
her heart toward this boy now but that of sympathy. 
In the presence of the little soul whose wings w^ere 
pluming for its mysterious flight, all earthl}^ wrongs 
and resentments vanished like mist before the rising 
sun. Birdie started forward and caught her brother’s 
arm wdth a low, entreating cry. 

“ O, Grand ! will you let him die ? ” she sobbed. 
“ W out you bring some one ? Can’t a doctor save him?” 

“ISTo earthly doctor can save life when the Lord 
has willed to take it,” said Aunt Boxy, sadly but de- 
cidedly. “ The nearest doctor is flve miles away, 
and long before you can get to him this child’ll be 
where it won’t need no care from any of us.” 


One of These Little Ones. 


51 


‘‘ But I’ll go !” cried the boy eagerly. “ There’s 
always hope while there’s life. O, I can’t see him 
die without trying to save him. I’m a quick walker, 
and five miles is nothing. I know where Dr. Brown 
lives, and Bll have him here in an hour or so at 
longest. Only keep him alive till I come back.” 
He bent to kiss the wdiite cheek and was off like a 
flash. 

“ It’s no earthly use,” called Aunt Roxy after him. 
‘‘ It’ll only be a long tramp for nothing, and you might 
be needed here.” 

But no answer came back ; only the sobbing of the 
wind and the ceaseless falling of the rain. 

“ Can’t you try to do something. Aunt Roxy ? ” 
asked Honor, a little impatiently. To her strong- 
willed, impetuous nature this quiet acceptance of the 
little one’s fate savored somewhat of indifference. 

‘‘ I’ve done all that can be done now. I have told 
you that it is too late. If I’d been sent for before, 
something might ’a’ been accomplished. All we can 
do now is to let the dear lamb go quietly.” 

Could not I take him,” asked Birdie plaintively. 

If he must go I’d like to hold him in my arms as 
long as he stays.” 

O, Birdie ! how can you ? ” cried Belle, turning 
away with a shudder, and covering her face with her 
hands. 

“Why, I’m not afraid,” said the child eagerly. 
“He’s only our baby as long as he lives, and when 
he goes out of my arms may be God will put him 
into mother’s. Don’t you think he will?” The 
lovely eyes turned appealingly toward Honor for 
answer. 


52 


Koyalized. 


I am very sure of it,” she said brokenly, tears 
blinding her eyes and choking her utterance. 

Aunt Koxy arose at once and placed the little one 
in his sister’s outstretched arms. It was she who liad 
earned the best right to hold him last on earth. 

‘‘ A child o’ that age ought to be abed and asleep,” 
muttered Aunt Roxy, as she moved busily about the 
room, picking up stray bits of soiled clothing here 
and there and gathering the unwashed .dishes togeth- 
er ; but children of such fathers as that don’t have 
no childhood.” 

“ I wonder if it would be worth while to try and 
wake him up ? ” she said at length, as, having reduced 
the wretched apartment to something like order, she 
paused for a moment over the prostrate form of the 
father whose child was passing noiselessly away into 
that country from whicli there is no returning. 
‘‘ What do you think ? ” she pursued with a doubtful 
glance at Belie. Is he ugly when he’s drunk ? ” 

There was no reply. Poor Belle, with her head 
dropped upon the table, was fast asleep. Aunt Roxy 
regarded her a moment with an expression of con- 
temptuous pity. Evidently no assistance was to be 
gained from that quarter, and the boy was gone. 
There was no one left but Birdie. She would soon 
be asleep too, perhaps, with that little dying head 
pillowed on her heart. But no ; Birdie’s eyes wei*e 
bright as stars when she raised them. 

“ He is not often ugly,” she said musingly. “ Some- 
times he is, but he never strikes us. I don’t know 
what he’d do if you should wake him up now. I’m 
’most afraid. It wont do to have baby disturbed 
now.” 


One of These Litti-e Ones. 


53 


“ It’s a pitj, though, to let him die, and his father 
layin’ there like a great heap o’ senseless clay,” said 
Aunt Koxy. “ Looks so heathenish 1 ” 

It would be more heathenish, though, if he should 
get up and turn us all out in the rain,” said Honor 
shudderingly. “ The best you can do is to let him 
sleep.” 

“ May be ; but I’m not afraid o’ his turnin’ Koxana 
Hill into the road to-night with a dying baby in her 
arms. Hum’ll have to have a hard tussle before it 
does that. However, I’ll see it on a bit.” 

An hour passed ; two hours. The room grew very 
still. Even Honor fell asleep at last, with her shawl 
for a pillow. Only Aunt Hoxy and the child Birdie 
kept tireless vigil over the little waning life. It was 
going very fast now. In a little while a new day 
would be here, and by that time Aunt Hoxy knew 
that those dimming eyes would have caught the 
splendor of the day eternal. Should she arouse that 
miserable father, or should she let him sleep his 
drunken sleep out, while this, his son, drifted be- 
yond his ken forever ? While she was pondering 
the question with growing anxiety a quick step 
sounded outside, and the door was pushed noiselessly 
open. It was the boy Grand, his young face weary 
and haggard. He sank down helplessly at Birdie’s 
side, and took one of the linip baby hands in his. 

“ I couldn’t bring him,” he said, with a hopeless 
ring in his voice. “ He’d gone away for the night, 
and none of the family knew where. There was no 
other doctor, they told me, within seven miles. I 
was afraid by the time I had walked that it would be 
too late, and so I told them to send Dr. Brown as soon 


54 : 


Eoyalized. 


as he came. I wish now, though, I’d gone for the 
other.” 

It would have been worse than useless,” said Aunt 
Roxy quietly. All the doctors in the land could 
never bring back life to this precious little soul. But. 
liow about your father there ? It’s always customary 
to call the family when one is dying. It don’t seem 
right for him to sleep like that while this dear lamb 
is passing away. Are you afraid to wake him ? ” 

“ Afraid ? Ho ! ” 

He got up slowly and advanced to the side of the 
sleeper. 

“ Father,” he said, laying a strong hand upon the 
man’s arm, “ fathei*, you must get up. Do you hear 
me ? ” The father started, opened his eyes, and mut- 
tered something stupidly. ‘‘ Father,” went on the 
boy, a little louder this time, and shaking him vigor- 
ously as he spoke, ‘‘ you must wake up.” The man 
aroused a little, frowned, and struck at him heavily. 

“ Curse you ! ” he muttered, turning over and clos- 
ing his eyes again. 

‘•Father!” cried the boy, his voice ringing so 
sharply through the room that Honor and Belle 
awoke with a start, “ the baby is dying ! ” 

“ Dying ? Who is dying ? ” The words rolled 
from the swollen lips heavily, and the dull eyes stared 
vacantly into those of his son. 

“ Baby. Don’t you understand ? If you want to 
see him alive you must get up this minute ! ” 

He understood at last. Grasping the offered hand 
of his son, he staggered to his feet. This man had 
loved his children once. Sixteen years ago, when his 
first-born was laid in his arms, there had been no 


One of These Little Ones. 55 

prouder joiiiig father in all the land. Looking into 
the tiny face, and feeling the clasp of the soft fingers, 
there had sprung up within him a fountain of pater- 
nal affection diamond bright, and pure as crystal. It 
lay there yet, though over its sparkling, bubbling 
waters there had grown an ugly stagnant scum, so 
that they gushed forth no more. The object at whose 
touch they had first leaped to the surface was the girl 
whose eyes turned from him in contempt to-night, and 
whose lips curled witli scorn at the mere mention of 
him. His younger children had known him only as 
a cruel shadow over their early lives. As for the wee 
one slipping away so quietly to-night, his only expe- 
rience of him had been to put up a grieved lip at his 
approach and hide his soft face in his sister’s neck. 
Still, after all, there lay hidden in this miserable 
man’s heart that dimmed and overgrown fountain of 
love for his children. At this moment, in the pres- 
ence of the dark-winged angel who had laid its resist- 
less grasp upon his youngest son, it sprang forth once 
more into something like life. He was thoroughly 
himself now. In his long sleep the effects of his re- 
cent debauch had wholly passed away. 

‘‘ What is it you tell me ? ” he asked, looking from 
one to the other in a bewildered way. “ Baby dying ! 
What has killed him ? ” 

Aunt Boxy, bending to moisten the pale lips, 
looked up at the question to flash a glance of whole- 
souled indignation at him. The emphatic word 
‘‘ Bum ! ” trembled upon her lips, but she arrested it. 
That one glance into his face forbade its utterance. 
It wore an expression of such mute pain that the 
woman’s good heart was touched. 


56 


Eoyalized. 


“ What has killed my baby ? ” he repeated with a 
sort of groan, stooping to clasp the tiny fingers which 
were growing so icy cold. 

“ O, father, don’t ! You’ll frighten him,” cried 
Birdie, clasping her darling closer, as if to shield him 
from the father’s very touch. 

But the baby was not afraid. The awful, gray 
shadows of death were settling over the exquisite 
face. The tender Shepherd who gathers the lambs 
with his arms and carries them in his bosom was re- 
ceiving this little one into everlasting habitations. 

There was a sudden convulsive start. The lovely 
dark eyes fiew open and fiashed upon the father’s face 
a look which was almost a laugh, then the tiny fingers 
closed about the large hand in which they rested, the 
long lashes swept the sweet eyes away from sight 
forever, and the little head which lay on Birdie’s arm 
stirred no more. 


Apples of Gold. 


57 


Y. 


APPLES OP GOLD. 

“ To the rescue ! 

Save the boy 1 ” 

“ The Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away,” 
said Aunt Roxy solemnly, laying her hard hand rev- 
erently over the snowy eyelids. Blessed be the 
name of the Lord ! ” 

Belle broke out into loud sobs. 

“ O, he is dead ! he is dead ! ” she cried, wringing 
her hands and beginning to pace the floor in a sort of 
nervous excitement. ♦ 

The father staggered to his feet with a groan, and 
covered his eyes. It had burst upon him so suddenly, 
this dying scene ! Without a suspicion that the little 
one was ailing he had awakened to And him groping in 
the valley of the shadow of death. A sudden anguish 
of remorse was tossing over the man’s soul in great 
waves and billows. It drowned all other emotions in 
its swelling tide. He heard the sobs and lamentations 
of his children ; saw Birdie’s head fall upon her 
brother’s shoulder in speechless anguish, her face 
white as the waxen face of her dead darling ; saw 
Grand’s boyish features strained and convulsed as he 
sought to sustain her ; heard Belle’s loud, noisy dem- 
onstrations of grief, and Honor’s low-spoken words 
of soothing. He saw Aunt Roxy lift the motionless 


5S 


HOYALIZED. 


little form from Birdie’s lap. He watched her witli 
an awful fascination as she straiglitened out the tinj 
limbs, smoothed back the golden rings of hair, and 
composed the little sleeper for his long rest. 

“ May I ask to wliom I am indebted for this great 
kindness?” he said, after some moments, approach- 
ing, somewhat timidly, the good woman whose tender 
hands were performing these last sad offices for his 
child. 

Aunt Roxy started at the sound of his voice. Tlie 
thickness of utterance had entirely left it. It was 
qniet, well modulated, even cultured. His words 
and manner were those of a thoroughbred gentleman. 
She stared at him in amazement ; truly tliis was a 
niglit of strange happenings and revelations. So 
little time ago this man had lain at her feet, the most 
miserable object on earth. Now he stood before her, 
tall, straight, and upright, speaking and looking like 
a man and a gentleman. It w^as wonderful. But 
tlien the world was full of surprises. Aunt Roxy was 
finding, in these late da3^s of life, more and more over 
which to marvel with wide-open eyes. She di’ew her- 
self up now, with some dignity, and looked the man 
squarely in the face. It might have been a good 
face once. In youth it might have been a handsome 
face ; now it was the face of a weak, dissolute man — 
a man who had yielded up his all to a base passion. 
Yet, at this moment, with her hand upon the marble 
fingers of the little child, this woman’s whole soul 
arose in waves of pity. There was no condemnation 
in the good heart now, only pity ! 

don’t know as you’re indebted to any bodjq” 
she said quietly, folding the tiny hands over each other. 


Apples of Gold. 


69 


I’m sure it’s notliing sliort of an honor to be per- 
mitted to minister to one of these little ones. My 
name is Roxana Hill.” 

Pardon me, are you a neighbor ? Do you live in 
the vicinity ? ” 

‘‘ Every body ought to be neighbors in times like 
these,” she replied, somewhat curtly. 

He looked at her in surprise. Her face and voice 
were hard, but the hands that smoothed baby’s golden 
hair were tender and loving as his mother’s might 
have been. 

“ Is it permitted me to ask, madam, if the child has 
been*long ill? ” he ventured hesitatingly. 

The sharp eyes turned upon him, with their old 
expression of stern severity. 

“ You ought to know, sir. I never set eyes on the 
little thing before to-night. When I came he was 
dying. It’s clear to me he’s been neglected. What 
does a house full of young ones know about sickness ? 
No doubt Birdie, there, as you call her, did the best 
slie could, but she’s little more than a baby herself. 
’Pears as if a father ought to know enough to look 
after his own children.” 

Hugh Gilmore, with a sudden impulse of remorse- 
ful humility, sank upon his knees by the still form of 
his little child, and kissed the hem of the white robe 
which draped him. His face, as he did so, was so 
full of a man’s strong suffering that Aiuit Roxy 
repented her harsh words. After all, the man was 
human, and this was not the time to throw his short- 
comings in his face. Who could penetrate the depths 
of his pain ? It needed not the addition of human 
censure in tliis hour. Why could she not have been 


60 


Royalized. 


forbearing ? Why had she not spoken words of com- 
fort instead of rebuke ? 

But poor Belle had none of the charity which suf- 
fereth long and is kind. The sight of her father 
pressing his polluted lips to baby’s spotless robe en- 
raged her. She darted forward, her blue eyes black 
with passion. 

“ Yes ! ” she cried tauntingly, “ kiss the hem of his 
garment, do! Make these people believe you loved 
him, if you can. Make them think you’re a good, 
kind father, and not a nasty, drunken sot! You 
killed him yourself, and you know it, dragging us to 
this miserable hole in such weather; and you ’killed 
mother, too, and you’d like to kill all the rest of us. 
You’re no father at all ; you’re nothing but a beast ! ” 
Belle ! ” It was Grand who spoke, in a voice of 
such concentrated power that the bitter words were 
stayed. He sprang to his feet with clinched hands, 
and started forward as if to strike her, but paused as 
Birdie laid her hands upon his arm. He dropped 
down at her side again, and folded the soft, clinging 
hands in a warm clasp. 

“I couldn’t strike a girl,” he muttered, “but if 
ever I’m tempted to it’s when one talks like that. 
She’d better not go too far with her mean speeches, 
though. I can’t stand every thing. Don’t go, fa- 
ther !” 

The father had risen, grasped his hat, and staggered 
to the door. His daughter’s words had cut into his 
very heart; every nerve in his being tingled with the 
sore hurt of them. 

“ It’s only the truth the child has spoken,” he said 
brokenly. “ I’m a beast, nothing but a beast ! ” 


Apples of Gold. 


61 


The boy’s hand grasped him firmly. 

“ But you must not go out to-niglit,” he said ear- 
nestly, “it’s almost morning, and we can’t stay alone 
now, you know.” 

“ You will not be alone. You have this good lady 
who has been so kind. Let me go. Grand ; I only 
want to get into the air. Tliis room is stifling ; ” but 
the strong boyish fingers did not relax their hold. 

“ Father,” he began, speaking verj^ low, “if you go 
out now you know how you’ll come home, and we 
can’t bear it when the baby is lying here like this.” 

He shook his head hopelessly. 

“ Do not try to detain me. Grand, boy. Take care 
of your sisters and do the best you can, but let me 
go. I’m no father to you. I’m only a beast ; only a 
beast ! ” 

He repeated the words with a sort of cruel fascina- 
tion, their bitterness had stung him so deeply. 

“ Well now, really, Mr. Gilmore,” put in Aunt 
Boxy, coming forward eagerly, “you wont think of 
leavin’ us alone without a head to the house at a time 
like this ’ere. Whose to make preparations for the 
funeral and tend to a houseful of young ones be- 
sides ? ” 

“ I assure you, madam, that any arrangement which 
you see fit to make will be entirely satisfactory,” he 
began weakly. 

“ O, but that aint the p’int. I’m willin’ to do my 
part and save you all possible trouble and expense, 
but the p’int is here — common decency has got to be 
observed. I might as well come out plain, sir, and 
say what you know, as well as all these children do. 
If you go away now you’ll be likely to come back in- 


62 


Eoyalized. 


toxicated, for if rum’s to be had in a time like this 
you’ll have it, and Mike Gaffney ’d sell it to yon if all 
your children laid dead and you was a-dyin’ yourself. 
Rumsellers don’t seem to have no souls, but they’ll 
find out, some day, may be, when they’re a liftin’ up 
their eyes in everlastin’ torment, that they’ve got 
souls, and souls that can suffer, too. But that’s got 
nothin’ to do with tlie subject before us — that is, the 
proper respect that must be paid to this dear lamb, 
which it’s pleased the good Slrepherd to gather to 
himself, bless his name ! The child’s got to be buried, 
sir, and I ask you, how in the name of common de- 
cency is it to be done' unless you keep sober ? I’m 
sure I don’t know. You’re not in the big city now, 
remember, ‘where you might all be carried out and 
your nearest neighbor know nothin’ about it. We’ve 
got human hearts, up here in the hills, Mr. Gilmore. 
We weep with them that weep. You can’t bury 
your child here without a respectable gatherin’ of 
friends and neighbors, and a minister to read the 
service ; and how, I ask you, is this to be, with you 
a-layin’ in the house drunk ? ” 

Birdie sprang up at this juncture, and, running 
toward him, threw her arms about him, a passion of 
pleading in her eyes. 

“ O, father, don’t go, don’t, for baby’s sake ! ” she 
cried. 

“ For mother’s sake,” added Grand softly, his grasp 
on his father’s arm tightening. 

Hugh Gilmore looked into the two eager faces and 
paused irresolute ; his eyes turned involuntarily toward 
Belle. She was the child of his earliest affection. 
She it was who must recall him now. If she said, 


Apples of Gold. 


63 


Stay, father,” in the voice lie used to love, lie knew 
that at this moment she could control him, and he 
waited for the word. 

But Belle added no entreaty. The very sight of 
her father was hateful to her. She cared not whitlier 
he went so that she was relieved of his presence. She 
met his eyes ; read their silent appeal ; but her lips 
only curled in scorn thereat, and refused the single 
word which might have stayed him. Fully awakened 
as the man was, and sensitive now to the heart’s core, 
the sight of that curling lip stung liiin to the quick 
again. 

It’s all true that she says,” he repeated. “ I’m 
no man. I can never be a man — never be any thing 
but a beast, nothing but a beast ! ” and then he flung 
his children from him v/ith his man’s strength, 
threw open the door, and dashed out into the thick 
darkness and the heavy storm. 

For an instant utter silence fell upon the little 
group. Grand sank helplessly into the chair and 
buried his face in his hands. 

Birdie threw herself upon the floor beside him, 
pressing her quivering lips tight in that strange, un- 
childish constraint which characterized her. Belle sat, 
perfectly unmoved, looking into the fire with the same 
scornful expression curling her red lips. It was Hon- 
or’s voice which broke the stillness. A storm of wrath 
had been gathering within her for several moments. 
It burst forth furiously. 

Shame, shame upon you. Belle Gilmore ! ” she 
cried, stamping her foot. I don’t believe there’s 
another girl in the land mean enough to drive her 
own fa^er to a rum-hole with her little brother lying 


64 


HOYALIZED. 


dead before her very eyes. Your conduct is more 
than shameful. It’s heathenish, infamous ! ” 

Belle raised her blue eyes coolly, and surveyed the 
flushed face and snapping eyes with a glance of calm 
superiority. 

“It’s easy to talk,” she said complacently; “but 
seems to me I’d wait until I knew what I was coming 
at before I called people hard names, if I were you.” 

“ Hard names ! Why, any one with a heart would 
call you hard names. Even after your mean berating 
of him, if you had said the word, he would have 
stayed. How all these children have to bear the con- 
sequence of your contemptuous act. You’re just 
heartless ! ” 

“ Heartless ! Am I ? ” Belle leaned forward, 
placed her chin in her hand, and looked straight into 
the indignant eyes. “ There are two sides to that 
question. Take the thing home ; put yourself in my 
place, and tell me if you were blest with a father who 
broke your mother’s heart would you dver forgive 
him ? ” 

Honor started as if she had received a sudden blow. 
Her very own words had risen and confronted her. 

“ I’ll never forgive him — never ; and if ever I have 
the opportunity I will be revenged upon him as surely 
as I have read this letter.” 

That was the declaration which she had made only 
a few hours ago, in a white heat of passion at the fa- 
ther whose face she had never seen. 

“ 0 wad some power tlie giftie gie us 
To see oursels as others see us 1 ” 

The mysterious “giftie ” had been granted to Honor 
Leroy. Here, in this weak girl upon whom she had 


Apples of Gold. 


65 


looked with contempt and anger, she suddenly beheld 
her very own self, as it were, staring at her in a most 
ungratifying light. She had prided herself upon her 
strength, her kindness of heart, her nobility' of nat- 
ure, and lo ! what was she better than this vain, silly 
girl, whose ruthless hand had driven her own father 
to his destruction ? Would she not have done like- 
wise ? Ay, under the same provocation, would she 
not have done worse ? 

Raising her eyes from the floor, she met the steady, 
flxed gaze of Aunt Roxy. It was a curious gaze — a 
searching gaze — as if the keen old eyes were striving 
to read the tumultuous young heart which beat so 
strongly. 

“ She knows he did break my mother’s heart,’’ 
thought Honor, and she wonders if I am weak as 
poor Belle. She does not dream that I am even 
weaker and more unforgiving.” 

‘‘Well, you don’t answer,” said Belle curiously; 

“ do you%till look upon me as such a shocking 
character ? ” 

Honor arose humbly, crossed over to where Belle 
sat, and took the fair, plump hand in both her 
own. 

“ I only look upon yon as very huraan^ Belle,” she 
said simply. “ It is so easy to see the faults of oth- 
ers. I am no better than you, but I wish you could * 
learn to forgive your father. Any one can see what 
a powerful influence you have over him. You might 
even save him. Wont you try to speak kindly to 
him ? ” 

“No, I wont!'’ cried Belle, drawing her hand 
away with a jerk. “ I wont even try to tolerate 
5 


66 Royalized. 

him. A great, lazj, drunken beast ! Bah ! I hate 
him ! ” 

Aunt Roxy lifted her hand sternly. 

“ Don’t talk like that, child, in the presence of this 
dear dead lamb. Heaven’s doors must be standin’ 
ajar just now with the little feet goin’ in. Don’t let 
^uch bitter words foller up to the pearly gates, for 
they’re nearer than we tliink, may be. Your father’s 
very wrong, no doubt — drunkenness is an awful sin 
■ — but you’ve got no right to set yourself up. ‘ Wlio 
art thou that judgest another?’ ‘ It is Christ that 
died.’ If you’ve got any influence over him to save 
him and don’t use it, your condehmation’ll be the 
heavier, for I mistrust he, poor man, haint no power 
of self-control any more. It behooves you children to 
put your shoulders to the wheel and kee23 him from 
goin’ clear to destruction, if possible, instead o’ fum- 
ing at him because he’s what he is.” 

Belle did not reply to this. With her fair face 
resting upon her hand she relapsed into a'^’t of sul- 
len silence, from which mood it was impossible to re- 
call her. 

Aunt Roxy moved about the room, straightening 
it out with deft fingers, and all unconsciously impart- 
ing to it that air of stiff tidiness which characterizes 
Hew England housekeeping. 

“ I’m at a loss to know,” she said at length, ad- 
dressing herself to Grand as she drew a sheet rever- 
ently over the little form which was so exquisitely 
beautiful in its cold, white sleep — “ I’m at a loss to 
know what arrangements to make about the funeral. 
Your father I don’t suppose’ll see a sober minute 
until this dear lamb is under the ground, and there’s 


Aetles of Gold. 67 

nobody left but you cliildren. Have you got any 
folks anywhere ! ” 

“Folks?” repeated Grand questioningly. 

“ Any kin, I mean, on either side. Can’t be you’re 
entirely alone in the world.” 

“ But we are. I don’t know of any one whods'the , 
least bit of relation to us except those who are top> 
proud to own us. Mother’s people cast her off wheiX,^ '^ 
she mari-ied, and father had only one brother, who- 
died 'five years ago. I don’t think there’s any body, 
ma’am.” 

“ You never see none o’ your mother’s folks, I 
s’pose ? ” 

“ No, nor ever want to,” he said shortly, a hard line 
settling about his mouth. 

“ Do they know^he’s dead ? ” pursued Aunt Boxy 
interestedly. 

“ Yes. Father wrote both to grandfatlier and Aunt 
Mildred.”, 

“ They came to the funeral, I s’pose ? ” 

“ I s’pose they didn’t ! They never even conde- 
scended to answer the letters.” 

Aunt Boxy stared at the boy incredulously. 

“ Didn’t come to the funeral ! Didn’t answer the 
letters ? It can’t be possible.” 

“ It is possible, though ! ” and Grand sprang to his 
feet, his eyes ablaze. “ They are worse than brutes, 
those people. My grandfather ! Bah ! I’d like to 
blow his brains out. I’ll do it, too, if I ever get a 
chance.” 

“ O hush, hush ! ” cried Aunt Boxy, holding up 
her hands in horror. “ What kind of a way is that 
to talk ? You wont do any such thing.” 


68 


Eoyalized. 


“ It’ll be well if I never get the chance, then. The 
man who could be cruel like that to my mother isn’t 
lit to live.” 

“ O, you don’t know the circumstances. Ple’d tio 
business to act so, but then he was tried, no doubt. 
She disgraced him, I expect.” 

‘‘ Well, she didn’t. She never did. She couldn’t 
disgrace any body. The best man in the world might 
have been proud to be her father. O, I don’t w^ant 
to talk about it. It only makes a fellow mad, and 
does no good. But about baby here,” his voice grow- 
ing low and tender, you must do what you tliink 
best. There’s a little money — some that mother 
earned by sewing. She managed to keep it hid away, 
and I’ve got it safe yet. I guess there’ll be enough 
to pay expenses, and if there aint I’ll make it up 
somehow, and I’d like to say, madam,” the hot blood 
rushing over cheeks and brow in torrents, ‘‘ that 
you’re the kindest woman living, and I beg your par- 
don for the mean trick I served you. A fellow’s got 
to have a little fun once in a while, but that kind, I 
own, is pretty small. I hope you wont lay it up 
against me.” 

I don’t hold no grudges, child,” said Aunt Roxy 
calndy. “ As it turned out it was all for the best, 
but I hope you wont play no more sich tricks again as 
long as you live. It aint right nor honest, and it be- 
hooves children of a good mother, like yours must 
have been, to be fair and square and above board in 
all your dealin’s.” 

Bravo ! Aunt Roxy all unconsciously had said just 
the right thing. Her words were fitly spoken, and 
they flashed before this boy’s mental vision like apples 


Apples of Gold. 


69 


of gold in pictures of silver. Slie had touched the 
sweetest note on the key-board of his young soul, his 
reverential love for his dead mother. He was not a 
bad boy. Indeed, there was much that was noble in 
him even at that early stage of his existence, much 
that bespoke superiority of birth and training, poor 
drunkard’s boy though he was ; but his character had 
one great flaw, which, slight though it might appear to 
tliose whose eyes were accustomed to graver faults, 
bid fair sadly to impede his progress to t>he grand 
manhood of which he was capable. That flaw was 
his inordinate love of a practical joke. He was allow- 
ing this foolish passion to gain the mastery of him. 

It was fast becoming his habit to yield to it every 
instinct of right and loyalty within him. Every day 
of his life it was drawing large draughts upon his 
honesty, his truthfulness, his strong sense of justice. 
Every day some one fell a victim, as Aunt Roxy had 
done, to this troublesome propensity of his, insomuch 
that every body in any way connected with him was 
beginning to look upon him with distrust and sus- 
picion, while in truth, save in the gratiflcation of this 
one overweening desire, the boy was as honest and fair 
as the daylight. 

To-night, however, in the solemn presence of the 
great destroyer, and face to face with this strange, 
white mystery, all these things looked unutterably small 
and trifling. Life had suddenly widened out before 
the boy. It loomed up in gigantic proportions as it 
had not done before since he had stood at his moth-'^ 
er’s grave. That insensible something which in the 
weakest of us res])onds to the infinite Goodness from^ 
which we sprang, and in which we live and move 


70 


Koyaltzed. 


and have onr being, was all astir in this careless heart. 
It needed only tlie touch of that one exquisite note 
to render the grand chord in the harmony of his 
liigher nature complete. Aunt lioxy’s unskilled 
finder has tilled out the strain which will never cease 

O 

its vibrations until this soul has lost its poor, imperfect 
earthly notes in the full, grand harmonies of tlie 
better life. Thus we go on, careless players that 
we are, sounding many notes that are discordant and 
hurtful perhaps, many that jar and irritate and annoy, 
but now and then — only once in a life-time, it may be — 
striking the one “ chord divine,'’ which finds its re- 
sponse in some soul to its everlasting health. 

Two days thereafter Grand Gilmore, standing at the 
open grave wliich received his baby brother cut of 
his sight, looked down into its darkness with ej^es that 
slied no tear. It was better thus, he knew. The 
little feet were saved hard, rough paths and seas of 
bitterness. There was nothing to call for tears in 
the sure knowledge that the child was safe from the 
storm of life forever more. Still, the world was 
sadder than it had ever been before. The little 
angel’s wing had cast a shadow black as night in its 
flitting. But there was joy among the angels in 
heaven that day for the soul of this boy; turned then 
and there from this highway, which might have led 
to ruin and death, into the shining track toward the 
city of his beloved. 


Heart Over Head. 


71 


VI. 

HEART OVER HEAD. 

“But to live that eacli to-morrow 
Find us farther than to-day.” 

“Well, now, Miss Honor, what’s to be the next 
thing on the programme?” asks old John, dropping 
his reins over the dashboard and folding his arms 
complacently while he turns to look into the face of 
the yonng lady on the back seat. He can scarcely keep 
the trill of delight out of his voice, and his honest 
face is fairly beaming with pleasure. And no won- 
der. There has not been a bit of young life about the 
old house for two long years. The sight of the girl’s 
face to-day is better than the sunlight. He can 
hardly realize that he is actually bringing her home. 

Honor’s eyes come back from the distant blue 
mountain top, and fix themselves rather abstractedly 
upon the homely old face. Lying back among the 
cushions of the comfortable, old-fashioned carriage, 
she has been lost in a day-dream of perfect bliss. 
Life is simply ecstasy to-day, with the shimmer of the 
daisy-fields in her eyes and the glory of everything 
wrapping her senses about in a spell of unspeakable 
delight. 

“What did you say, John ? I was not listening.” 

“Thinkin’ ’bout sumthin’ else, hey ? ’Pears tome 
you’ve got sort o’ absent-minded like since you’ve 
been off to that ’ere hity-tity Boston school o’ yourn. I 


'12 


Koyalized. 


asked ye wliat ye calculated to do now that you’ve 
got through ' your schoolin’. Settle down like a sen- 
sible girl, I hope ? ” 

Honor smiled a little. It was no new question to 
lier, that ‘‘What next?” Indeed, it had been the 
theme of an elegantly worded essay which she had had 
the honor of reading before an admiring and fasliion- 
able crowd only last night. It had, of its own 
merits, brought her several bouquets — that essay. She 
had some reason to be proud of it. “An important sub- 
ject and well handled,” people had whispered, as 
Honor, flushed with pleasure and triumph, stepped 
from the stage to meet the congratulations of her 
school-mates. She was glad then that she had chosen 
those two earnest words for her subject. She was ready, 
she felt at that glowing moment, clasping her lovely 
flowers, ready for the next thing, whatever it might 
be. But that was last night, in the glare of gaslight, 
with mnsi(; and applause in her ears. To-day, a trifle 
weary with tlie reaction and her journey, a little 
sleepy and very dreamy withal, she was not at all 
ready for anj^ thing which called for action of any 
sort. It was not altogether agreeable to be con- 
fronted by that grave question just here, at the very 
threshold of a new life. 

“Why, John,” she cried, a little irritably, “I’m 
sure I don’t know. The flrst thing, I think, will be 
to take a good rest. I’ve rather overworked this 
year. It’s been a delightful year, though.” 

“ La, yes, I s’pose it has. Don’t seem as if ye could 
content yourself at the old farm, nohow, after the gay 
life you’ve been leadin’.” 

“ O ! I shall manage to exist through the summer. 


Heart Over Head. 


I suppose. After that I must look for a broader field 
of action. My great ambition, John, is to go to 
Europe.” 

To Ynrrnp ! What on airth for, I desire to 
know ? ” 

“To pursue art studies, I think.” * 

“ Humph ! Haint ye got learnin’ enough yet, that 
ye must want to go sailin’ acrost the ocean? ’Pears 
to me that’s a foolish notion, child.” 

“ O, John, you don’t understand. I^obody’s edu- 
cation is considered complete in these days without 
a bit of foreign culture.” 

“ I don’t know nothin’ ’bout your foreign culture, 
but it looks to me like placin’ the biggest kind of a 
slight on our own country .for folks to go trapesin’ 
away off there to get eddicated. As if Ameriky wa’n’t 
capable of doin’ for her own people. It’s a sort of 
bowin’ down to Old England which we free-born 
Americans hadn’t ought to do, I reckon.” 

“ Well, John, perhaps there’s something in that. It 
is something of an acknowledgment, that’s a fact; 
but they have the advantage of age, you know.” 

“Mebbe they have, but our country’s earnt the 
right to hold up its head with the proudest of ’em.” 

They were going up the long hill between Wind- 
ham and the old farm. The view from that spot 
was magnificent. Honor leaned forward with kindling 
eyes, all her artist soul on fire. 

“ ’Pears to me you’ve growed mighty good-lookin’,” 
observed John blandly. 

Honor dropped back in her seat again, laughing im- 
moderately. 

“You are determined that I shall not indulge in 


74 


Eoyalized. 


mooTisliine to-day, are you not?” she said. Never- 
theless, the plain, old-fashioned compliment had a 
genuine ring which was not unpleasant. 

‘‘You look like your father, child,” the old man 
said in a constrained voice. 

“My father! You have seen him, then?” asked 
Honor, with sudden interest. 

‘'* Yes — leastways, that is, years ago.” 

There was a singular confusion in his manner which 
struck the girl oddly. 

“When he was a young man, John? I should 
think you would have forgotten him in all these 
years.” 

“ O, no ! his is a face you can’t forget. I was al- 
ways sorry, though, you hadn’t looked like your ma. 
She was no beauty, only little and dainty, and sweet, 
like a snow-drop. She wa’n’t no milksop, neither ; 
she had a power of snap in that little body of her’n. 
She’d bear things that would kill any ordinary woman 
quicker’]! lightnin’. I always wondered why ’twas she 
give up and died as she did.” 

“ My father,” began Honor, and then hesitated, look- 
ing away toward the little grave under the hill back 
of the old stone church they were approaching. 

“Left her! that’s what he did,” said John sharply. 
“ Blazes ! Such a man ought to be shot ; beg your 
pardon. Honor.” 

“ John,” said Honor, looking straight into the old 
man’s eyes ; “ why, in all the years of my life, have 
you never spoken my father’s name in my hearing 
before ? ” 

“ Why, why, I don’t know — that is, I never 
thought — I mean I — well, the fact is yer Aunt Boxy 


IIeakt Over Head. 


T5 

forbid me and Haoner ever speakin’ to you about 
iiiin any more’n if he’d died wlien your ma did. She 
said she wouldn’t bring up no child to dishonor its 
father, and the best she could do was to keep silence. 
Here, child, jest hold them reins while I open the 
gate. Whoa, Jessy! There, now! Does the old place 
look nateral to you. Honor ? ” 

Yery,” said Honor abstractedly. 

She was thinking of the little mother -whose life 
had been so sadly wrecked. She was longing at this 
instant, with the old childish, passionate longing, for 
the dear voice which she had never heard. It seemed 
as if she must hear it to-day welcoming her home. 
But, ala&! there was only Aunt Boxy. There always 
had been, there always would be, only Aunt Boxy. 
She drove through the gate and up the shady lane, 
looking all about her, but seeing nothing distinctly. 
Only the clouds — the lovely white clouds which lay 
between her and her mother. 

Whoa, there, Jessy ! Stand still, now,” called out ^ 
John’s voice as he laid a hand on the bridle rein. 
“How, girlie, jump out— there’s yer Aunt Boxy 
-waitin’ for ye on the piazzer.” 

' Honor sprang out nimbly, but the old man’s hand 
detained her as she was brushing past him. 

“ ’Pears like I couldn’t muster up the pluck to tell 
ye, child,” he whispered, his honest face crimsoning. 

Honor gave a start of alarm. 

“ Why, John, is any thing the matter?” 

“Ho, nothin’ ser’us, only — somebody’s eome. I’d 
ought to prepared ye, may be, but I couldn’t do it, 
no how. Bun in, and see for yerself ; ye aint one of 
the faintin’ kind. I guess ye’ll stand it.” 


70 


Royalized. 


Honor laughed a little soberly, as she went forward 
to meet x\unt Roxv. One glance at the kindly, grave 
face told that John’s incoherent mutterings were not 
without some foundation. She greeted the girl with 
an unusual warmth of manner, but she was evidently 
ill at ease. She looked strangely flushed and an- 
noyed. 

“ Honor,” she began, surveying her from head to 
foot with a sort of vacant stare, ‘H’rn sorry it’s 
happened so, jest the very flrst day you got home, 
too, but there’s no help for it, no help at all.” 

“Is any one sick. Aunt Roxy?” asked Honor, be- 
wildei’ed at this strange reception; “has any thing 
happened ? ” 

“Yes, something happened. Somebody’s come. 
I never thought of seeing him again, no more than if 
he’d been dead and in his grave these eighteen years. 
It’s come on me like a thunder-clap. My nerves is 
all upset. I can’t tell you any thing about it. Honor. 
You’ll have to see for yourself. Go into the parlor, 
child ; don’t stop to ask no questions. Go right ahead 
while I see about having your trunks fetched in.” 

She gave the girl a push toward the door . as she 
spoke, and Honor stepped inside with a strange sense 
of dread. The parlor door stood open. Some one 
was walking inside. Honor stepped to the door, sen- 
sible now only of a strong curiosity. A gentleman 
was pacing the floor, his hands behind him and his 
head bent. He raised his 6yes quickly, as Honor’s 
step sounded in the door-way, and came eagerly for- 
ward, with outstretched hands, but faltered a little as 
he met her look of non-recognition. 

“ Then you do not know me,” he said in a con- 


Heaet Over Head. 77 

strained voice, looking down at her somewhat 
anxiously. 

He was an unusually fine-looking man — not young, 
nor old — scarcely middle-aged, and yet far past 
youth. Honor studied his face curiously. She had 
never seen it before, and yet it was not unfamiliar. 
It recalled some face with which she was thoroughly 
acquainted. It was only a resemblance, she knew^. 
and to whom it was impossible to conjecture. 'f* 

“You do not know me?” he repeated, corning 
nearer', and taking one of the small gloved hands in’ 
his. 

“ I do not, sir,” she began, falteringly, and then 
and there the truth fiashed before her clear as the 
noonday. John’s confused rnutterings. Aunt Roxy’s 
odd behavior — ah, yes! She stepped deliberately 
past the stranger to the little old-fashioned looking- 
glass betweerr the windows, and coolly surveyed her 
own yourrg face. Those fine dark gray eyes, the 
rounded chin, the full red lips, were no rrew study, 
but they had a new interest at this moment. She 
turned and confronted the stranger. Ah, yes. It 
was patent enough. 

“You are my father, sir,” she said, wondering at 
the quietness of her own voice. 

“ Ah, she told you ? ” 

“ She told me nothing.” 

“ How, then, do you know that I am your father? ” 

“ It is not a difficult matter to decide.” 

She spoke truly. The most unobservant stranger 
would not have hesitated to pronounce upon the re- 
lationship between them, and yet there was a differ- 
ence in the faces, strikingly alike as they were in 


78 


Royalized. 


every curve and outline. The eyes of the girl looked 
you fairly and squarely in the face ; the eyes of the 
man shifted your gaze, uneasily. The girl’s mouth, 
flexible and sweet as it was, had a Arm set whicli be- 
spoke strength of purpose; the man’s was weak, 
irresolute, undecided. They were the eyes and mouth 
of a man who could look and speak one thing while 
he meant another. 

‘‘Well,” he said, after a pause, during which he 
had been gazing somewhat critically at this fair young 
daughter of his, “ you do not seem particularly happy 
to see me ; at least you might have the grace to shake 
hands.” 

Involuntarily Honor stepped back and clasped her 
hands behind her. She could not, at this moment, 
forget that this man had broken her mother’s heart. 
He stared at her, flushing to his forehead. 

“ Aunt Roxy has prejudiced you against me ! ” he 
exclaimed angrily. 

“Aunt Roxy has never spoken your name in my 
presence, sir.” 

“ Tlien who has? ” 

“ No one.” 

“What, then, has given rise to this evident bitter- 
ness against your own father ? ” 

“Your own words, sir,” burst forth Honor, with 
flnsliing eyes; “nothing else could have effected it. 
No human evidence could have made me believe that 
I was the daughter of a man who was weak, base, 
cow\ardly ! ” 

He raised his hand peremptorily. 

“ There, that will do ; I will permit no more in- 
sulting language. You have, no doubt, been reading 


IIeakt Over Head. 


T9 


some of my old letters to your mother and placed 
your own construction upon them. You are wholly 
ignorant of the circumstances of that case. It is too 
painful a one for me to discuss at present. Let it 
suffice to say that I loved your mother devotedly. 
Only the most imperative need forced our separation. 
Had she lived, I must have returned to her. Her 
death was a most unexpected and cruel blow to me. 
I never since had the heart to set my feet upon the 
soil of any spot associated with her, nor, indeed, until 
very recently, upon the soil of my native land.” 

. “I suppose you were aware of my existence,” said 
Honor, trying to keep the tremble of passion out of 
her voice. 

I was aware of it, and aware, also, that you were in 
the very best of hands. 1 knew that there need be no 
lack in your life. There was ample provision made 
for your support and education, for your comfort and 
happiness in all respects.” 

“ I suppose it never occurred to you that a mother- 
less child might suffer a trifle from loneliness now 
and then, and be sadly at a loss to account for the 
father who was not dead,” pursued Honor, with 
curling lips. 

“Indeed, I thought of you very often, and have 
been repeatedly tempted to return and see what man- 
ner of girl you were growing into, but, as I have said, 
my feelings would not permit me to venture upon 
old scenes. I was also painfully conscious that my 
presence could do you no good, therefore I left you 
to grow up in ignorance of me.” 

“And what prompted you to seek me out at 
last ? ” 


80 


Royalized. 


“ Principally, an overweening desire to find the 
one thing on earth belonging to me.” 

There was an accent of pain in his voice which 
went straight to the true heart of the child who had 
lived lierTife without him. 

“ And you are grievously disappointed ? ” she said 
sadly. 

“ Disappointed ? R’o, only that you are so much 
more my daughter than your mother’s. I expected 
to find you like her.” 

He broke off abruptly, a mist blinding his eyes, 
and liis utterance growing thick. In another instant, 
before Honor could speak again, he had left the 
room. 

Honor stared out of the open window with an ab- 
sent, wistful gaze. Somehow the glory had departed 
from the June day. There was no blue in the sky, 
no sheen over tlie daisy fields. Something had taken 
the liglit away. And what was it, this great shadow 
which had flung itself between her and the sun ? 
Only the fulfilling of a life-long desire. She smiled 
sadly as she recalled the nights when she used to go 
sobbing to bed with heart hunger and passionate long- 
ing for that which this day had brought her. Alas, 
alas! how the world disappoints us I How often the 
granting of an old prayer falls upon us like a cloud ! 

“ Are you alone there. Honor? ” asked Aunt Roxy’s 
voice at the door. She spoke and moved cautiously. 
There was a look almost of fright in her eyes as she 
slid softly in. 

“I saw him go into the garden a moment ago. 
He’ll be back, I s’pose, soon.” 

Come up-stairs to my room, if you please,” said 


Heart Over Head. 


81 


Honor, rising hastily. “I want to hear more about 
this. You never told me any thing, you know.” 

Aunt Hoxy followed the bounding footsteps up the 
long stairs with an air of submission. Something 
seemed to have altered her whole nature. Honor 
drew her eagerly inside the door and turned the key. 

“How, then,” she said, almost pushing her into a 
chair and coming close to her, “ begin at the begin- 
ning, please, and tell me all you know about this man 
— my father. You have kept me in ignorance of 
him all my life. It was wrong ; it was unjust — un- 
kind.” 

“Ho, it wa’n’t,” said Aunt Roxy, raising her hand 
with a feeble attempt to stay the reproachful words. 
“ If I’d spoke at all I must have said something to 
make you dishonor him, and I couldn’t do it — he 
was your father. There was nothing good to say of 
him, and I couldn’t say ill.” 

“ Who was he?” asked Honor impatiently; “how 
came my mother to marry him ? She was a good 
woman, you say.” 

“ One of the very best that ever lived, child, and 
she fairly worshiped the ground that man walked on. 
She’d laid down her life for him any day.” 

“ Where did she meet him first ? ” 

“ Why, right here. He came here from the city, a 
perfect stranger from the city, and wanted to git 
board for the summer, and I, like a fool, taken in by 
his pretty ways and soft speeches, took him right into 
the bosom of my family, and your mother, of course, 
poor young thing, only sixteen — younger than you 
be. Honor, but far more womanly in her ways — ^^of 
course she fell in love with him, first thing, and I, 
6 


82 


ItOYALIZED. 


goose tliat I was, was actually pleased about it, and 
done every thing I could to help the affair along. 
Well, they didn’t even wait the year out, but got 
married at Christmas. In the spring he took her to the 
city, and that was the beginning of the end. In less 
than a year she came home, a deserted wife, bringing 
you, not two months old. One look into her face and 
I knew that her hurt was unto death. She was proud 
as a star, my little Margaret, that I brought up from 
a baby. She couldn’t bear no such disgrace as that. 
She took to her bed the first day she got here, and 
never got up again. She died in August. J^obody 
could tell what was the matter of her. The doctors 
called it quick consumption. It was as near that as 
any thing. It’s all bosh about her heart being broke. 
She wa’n’t one to break her heart for no man 
livin’. She was made of too good stuff for that. 
Besides, she didn’t show no symptoms of a broken 
heart, , She was chirk and chipper to the day of her 
death, only weak like.” 

“ But you remarked just now that her hurt was 
unto death,” said Honor. ‘‘Was it not the hurt that 
killed her?” 

“No, never. I tell you she had too much grit to 
die that way. It’s my belief she never was strong ; 
her mother died of consumption, and this trouble, 
coming on her when it did, hastened her death — 
didn’t cause it at all.” 

“ Then you do not consider my father guilty of that 
sin?” 

“ What sin ? ” 

“ AVhy, what I’ve been charging him with — break- 
ing a woman’s heart.” 


Heart Over Head. 


83 


“Ho. I tell you I don’t believe in broken hearts. 
Nobody ever dies that way, in ray opinion. Troub- 
le’s hard enough to bear, but human hearts are con- 
stituted so that they can bear it. Whenever you hear 
of any body’s dying of a broken heart you can calcu- 
late that there’s been a mighty sight of imprudence 
in the beginning of it, such as ketchin’ cold and all 
that kind o’ thing. But all the same, Honor, remem- 
ber, I don’t blame Keginald Leroy a mite less, or hold 
him a bit less responsible for his base conduct. He 
showed himself to be a weak-minded, easily led rascal. 
That one act stamped his whole life in my eyes. I 
couldn’t respect such a man again if he lived a thou- 
sand years, and done good every day of them thou- 
sand years. There are some things tlxat can’t never 
be overlooked.” 

“ Is that the spirit of Christ ? ” asked Honor, smil- 
ing faintly. “Are we not to forgive until seventy 
times seven ? ” 

“ O, it’s not the forgivin’, child. I forgave him 
long ago.” 

“ But you do not forget, which, I believe, has been 
decided is equivalent to not forgiving.” 

“ Child, it is not for me to condemn. I’d go a long 
way to do the man good, but as for receivin’ him into 
my heart again, I can’t do it. It’s not the way God 
forgives, but God is divine ; I’m human.” 

Honor looked at her thoughtfully. She was com- 
prehending for the first time what a sea of trouble 
this poor soul had w^aded through in the yielding up 
of its one life treasure. For the “ little Margaret ” 
liad been Aunt Boxy’s pearl of pearls since the hour 
she had received her from the arms of her dying 


84 


Koyalized. 


mother. 'No wonder she liad grown a trifle hard and 
stern. She was human. 

“Aunt ’Hoxy, wliat brought mj father here?” 
asked Honor liesitatinglj. 

“ He came for you. I never was so beat out in all 
my life. I was a-sittin’ in the door-step pullin’ straw- 
berries when the stage stopped and let him out. I 
knew him the minute I set^ eyes on him, though' I 
hadn’t seen him in more’n eighteen' years. He haint 
changed a mite. There’s scarce a gray hair in his 
head, and his skin’s as smooth as yours. Well, as I 
said, his cornin’ give me such a tuim that I never knew 
what I was about. I got up and walked out to meet 
him, holdin’ my dish of strawberries in my hand, and 
says I, ‘ Keginald Lei'oy, what have you come back 
for?’ and he raised his hat and smiled as polite and 
saucy as if nothing had ever happened to make me 
hate the sight of him, and he says, ‘ How de do. Aunt 
Hoxy ?’ jest as though he’d been gone out for a day 
or two and come back ag’in, and then he told me 
how he’d been stoppin’ in Boston and seen your name 
in a paper among the list of graduates in your school, 
and supposin’ it to be his daughter he’d gone to the 
commencement, and of coui'se when he saw you he 
knew well enough who you belonged to.” 

“ And so I am indebted to him for my flowers,” 
said Honor musingly. “ I marveled gi'eatly at such 
a display of courtesy from sti’angers. That basket of 
Egyptian lilies was the rarest thing presented on the 
stage last night, and there was no name attached.” 

“ O, no doubt he sent ’em ; paid an enormous price 
for ’em, too, I dare say. He always did throw away 
money. Well, he said he couldn’t meet you for the 


Heart Over Head. 


85 


first time in a place like that, not knowin’ how you 
might receive him, so he took an early train so’s to 
get ahead of you.” 

“Is it not strange, his coming at this time? Have 
you had any conversation with him. Aunt Eoxy ? ” 

“Ho, none at all. It seems somehow as if I can’t 
make no talk with him. I wish I could. I don’t 
want to seem hard, and may be he’s repented of his 
evil ways long ago in sackcloth and ashes, but some- 
how I can’t forget.” 

“ My mother would have done so, I suppose,” said 
Honor thoughtfully. 

“ Margaret ? La, yes ! She’d have received him 
with open arms if he’d left her for forty years ; but 
then I never was an angel, and besides it’s easier often 
to forgive them that trespass against us than them that 
trespass against our beloved.” 

“ Yes, that is so. But then. Aunt Eoxy, he is 
my father.” 

“ Yes, child. Honor him if you possibly can, what- 
ever he is. I’d be the last one to set you against 
him ; only, now that you have come to years of dis- 
cretion and asked me the plain question, I must 
answer and tell you the facts as they stand.” 

“You have told me nothing about him that I did 
not know before,” said Honor quietly. “More than 
two years ago — why, the very night that Baby Gil- 
more died, it was — I found an old letter in the gar- 
ret which told me the story in his own words. I 
have known my father for more than two years.” 

“That letter! You read that letter? Why, I 
could have sworn I destroyed it years ago. I found 
it among some of poor Margaret’s papers after her 


8G 


Eoyalized. 


death, and how in the world I came to leave it in 
the garret I don’t see, only that I was so overwhelmed 
in them days that I didn’t really know wliat 1 did. 
To think that you should have read that letter ! O, 
well, child, all the same he’s your father.” 

“ Yes ; wlien I first read the letter I hated him. I 
could have killed him then and there, but that very 
night my feelings changed. It was poor Belle’s be- 
havior which opened my eyes to the knowledge of 
my own heart. I saw myself refiected in a most un- 
fiattering light. Aunt Boxy, suppose by my unchar- 
itableness I should drive my father to his destruction ; 
could I ever meet the little fair-haired mother who 
died so long ago ? ” 

Aunt Boxy arose hastily. 

1 must go and see about supper,” she said, 
abruptly crossing the room. At the door she paused. 
“ Do your duty, child, and you’ll have nothing to re- 
gret,” she added, and then, as if fearing to trust her- 
self further, she hurried away. 

Honor leaned out. of the window. The scent of a 
cigar came up to her from the little side piazza. He 
was down there, under the morning-glory vines, look- 
ing over a paper. His face in the shadow looked 
unhappy — disappointed. Honor thought. She closed 
the blind hastily, and proceeded at once to change her 
dusty traveling suit for a fresh blue muslin, lingering 
over each detail with unusual care, and then she went 
down-stairs, her eyes shining with a new and beauti- 
ful light. 

The gentleman on the piazza looked up eagerly as 
her soft foot-fall sounded at his side. Evidently his 
fastidious taste was gratified as he studied the face and 


Heaet Over Head. 


87 


figure framed in the doorway. Indeed, Honor was 
very fair to see at that moment, in the bravery of her 
satin ribbons and lace-trimmed rufiles. Every thing 
about her savored of perfect health and freshness. 
The round cheeks had just the softest shade of color, 
the brown hair lay thick and moist on the fullj broad 
forehead, the red lips disclosed teeth that were like a 
row of pearls. The beauty -loving eyes of the man 
were fully satisfied ; and yet it was not a beautiful 
face, that which he was gazing at. There were no 
chiseled features or rose-leaf skin. It was only the 
glow of an honest conviction radiating it which made 
it so very fair. 

Reginald Leroy was a thorough man of the world. 
Once in his life had he been lifted, by a loving wom- 
an’s hand, up to heights from which all that he had 
hitherto striven after looked the merest shadows ; 
only once, up here among the granite hills, with the 
shimmer of the daisies on one side and the light of a 
pair of violet eyes on the other. Afterw'ard he had 
gone down to the world, and it had swallowed him up 
as before, body and soul. The shimmer of the daisies 
was about him this afternoon, but the blue eyes, alas! 
their light had been quenched by his own hand. 
There was nothing left to him now of that one bit 
of glory, nothing save this girl. 

Honor Leroy,” he repeated softly, a glow of ten- 
derness stealing into his eyes as he looked at her. 
“ It was my mother’s name. She was a noble, lovely 
woman. I hope my daughter is like her.” 

Honor shook her head, smiling, as she answered liis 
look with her honest eyes. 

“ I am like nothing that is noble,” she said frankly. 


88 Eoyalized. 

“nothing that is lovely. You have discovered that 
already, no doubt.” 

“ I have discovered nothing save that, whatever 
you are, you belong to me, and to me alone,” he said 
impulsively, rising and clasping the fair round hands 
in his. “ Honor, you will come with me now, my 
child, that I may make amends for past neglect ? ” 

He spoke questioningly, eagerly, his eyes searching 
hers. 

“ Where is your home? asked Honor non-commit- 
tally. She w’as not quite ready for this proposition. 

“ O, we are staying at Glendyn now, near Pough- 
keepsie. We spend our winters in the South.” 

“ We ?” repeated Honor wonderingly. 

“ O, I forgot that you did not know. I am married 
again.” 

He spoke carelessly, as if this stupendous fact was 
one of the smallest possible consequence, but Honor 
at the words recoiled as if she had received a blow in 
the face. 

Married again ! Then, after all, he had no need of 
her. All her earnest resolutions had been for naught. 

“ Married ! ” she repeated helplessly. 

“ Why, yes ; I had not thought to speak of it be- 
fore. Something ever a year ago I married a widow, 
a Mrs. Whitney, whom I met in Savannah. She is 
the daughter of Senator Le Grand, of Poughkeepsie. 
You have heard of him, possibly. I think you will 
get on well with my wdfe. Honor.” 

Honor shut her lips obstinately. She was very sure 
she would not. A stepmother was the last possible 
thing to be desired in her case. Indeed, it w^as by far 
the* most disagreeable feature of the affair as yet pre- 


Heart Over Head. 


89 


sented. Its very unexpectedness made it doubly dis- 
agreeable. Ho, this was a fate which she could not, 
would not accept. She turned aside with such an in- 
jured air that her father laughed involuntarily. 

“ Why, Honor, child, one would suppose that I had 
been doing you the greatest possible wrong. You 
will not tind it so, I assure you. When you have 
seen Glendyn and our Southern home my opinion is 
that you will be inclined to look with decided favor 
upon the lady through whom they came.” 

Honor’s eyes snapped. It was a marriage of self- 
interest then — a marriage for money. Well, why 
should one cultivate the spirit of charity ? Who, in 
all the world, was worthy of kindly judgment ? It 
was growing more and more apparent every day. She 
was learning what a sordid, selfish world it was. 

Well,” he said, after waiting a moment for her to 
reply, “ can you be ready to go by to-morrow ? ” 

Honor flashed a scornful look upon him. 

“ It does not appear necessary for me to go at all,” 
she said icily. 

“ Honor ! ” there was great displeasure in the gen- 
tleman's tones now, “I suppose you are aware that I, 
being your natural guardian, could control your ac- 
tions, but I will do nothing of the kind. You shall 
come with me of your own free will or not at all ; but 
remember this, my child : it is now or never. If I 
return without you this time I will make no further 
effort to regain you, nor will I receive you when this 
fit of perverseness passes and you choose to look with 
favor upon me. If -our paths diverge to-morrow they 
literally diverge forever. I have no patience with 
whims or notions. You may as well understand at 


90 


Eoyalized. 


once that I am not to be trifled with. That is the 
siipper-bell, is it not? We wdll go in now. You 
can tell me your decision when you have arrived at 
it, which I hope is not yet. But be very wary, my 
child. Don’t refuse the goods the gods bestow for 
a wdiim. Life is terribly real, you will find some 
day.” 

Honor stood looking after him as he stepped inside 
and walked leisurely down the long, wide hail. Then, 
with a sudden impulse, she bounded after him. He 
paused, with his hand on the knob of the dining-room 
door. 

‘‘ I will go with you,” said Honor breathlessly, and 
speaking in great haste, as if eager to get the words 
out of her mouth. 

“ Ah,” and he smiled his pleasant smile, “ your 
mind changes easily. I am afraid you are flckle.” 

“ Ho, I am not. Candidly, I should prefer to re- 
main where I am.” 

“ Why not remain, then ? ” 

‘‘ Because I cannot afford to lose my father now.” 

“ Ah, it is a triumph of heart over head,” he said, 
clasping her hand fondly, and then they went in to 
Aunt Koxy, 


Hed and Gkeen. 


91 


YII. 

EED AND GREEN. 

“ They have their exits and their entrances.” 

Master Le Grand Whitney was not at all sure 
that lie was pleased. He thrust his hands into his 
])ockets and took a turn or two across the piazza, then 
walked the whole length of tlie lawn and almost down 
to the river’s edge while he was deciding. He was not 
accustomed to having matters taken out of his hands 
in this way. Ever since he was old enough to assert 
liis will he had had it, and lo ! here, almost arrived at 
the age of sixteen, affairs closely concerning his do- 
mestic peace and happiness were adjusting themselves 
wl lolly without reference to him. He was finding 
Master Whitney totally ignored, as though he were a 
person of small account ; his approval or disapproval 
not even taken into question. 

I don’t half like it,” he soliloquized, stopping to 
whistle a bar of ‘‘ Home, Sweet Home” between his 
sentences. One girl about a house is enough, and 
Maud’s equal to half a dozen with her airs and graces. 
A fellow can’t move without stepping on some of her 
everlasting gim cracks or giving her a turn, and then 
to think of another ! Well, one thing’s certain, she’ll 
have to stand out of my way or there’ll be a row. 
I’ve stood about all I’m going to stand, lately. Such 
confounded doings ! What does a woman want to 


02 


IvOYALTZED. 


get married over again for, I’d like to know ! If IM 
cut my eye-teeth it never would have happened. 
It’s too late nowy I s’pose, but we’ll see if I’m to be 
Imposed on much further. Grandfather! Hallo, 
there!” he shouted, breaking off his soliloquy and 
springing up the bank to meet the old gentleman, 
who was strolling riverward with a stately step. 

A very fine-looking old gentleman he was ; an old 
gentleman who wore his threescore and ten years 
bravely, as one who has wrestled hard with life and 
come out conqueror. Indeed, there was very little 
look of age about this gentleman. The hair on his 
line forehead was silvery white, but his keen dark 
eyes and his firm, clear-cut lips kept their force and 
vigor. The hand grasping the gold-headed cane had 
all the firm grip of young manhood. The tall, lithe 
figure was erect, and the slow step strong and 
buoyant. 

He looked down from his fine height upon Mas- 
ter Whitney, wdth an expression of the eye which was 
not altogether one of pleasure. The fine dark eyes 
always took that expression when they fell upon this 
boy — his grandson, his only one. It was cruel that 
it should be so. It was a disappointment hard to 
bear. 

“ Grandfather,” cried Le Grand, “ have you heard 
the latest development ? ” 

“ I have heard nothing new. To what do you 
refer ? ” 

“ Why, to the fact that Papa Leroy sent a telegram 
this morning announcing the arrival of himself and 
daughter at four P. M. It’s a burning shame, isn’t 
it?” 


Red and Gkeen. 


03 


“ What is a burning shame ? ” 

Why, that we are to be so dreadfully imposed 
upon, i hate girls ! ” 

‘‘ Not your sisters, I hope ? ” 

“ I have only one sister, and that’s one too many. 
By the way, grandfather, you promised to go hunting 
with me this week. Let’s go to-day, and escape the 
horrid bore of meeting this girl.” 

The gentleman frowned unconsciously. 

“ Le Grand, this is exceedingly foolish talk. I am 
surprised that you are capable of such sentiments to- 
ward a young lady. I assure you no gentleman would 
be guilty of harboring them, and far less of giving 
expression to them. I advise you to cultivate grace 
of speech, at least.” 

“ Grace of fiddlesticks ! ” cried Le Grand, growing 
furious, as he always did under the slightest reproof. 
“ The very idea is an outrage. My mother has made 
a fool of herself and all the rest of us. If she must 
marry any body, why couldn’t she hAve looked out 
for some one who hadn’t half a dozen brats of his 
own ? ” 

“ Stop there ! ” cried the old gentleman sternly ; 
‘‘ not another word of this. Le Grand, I am heartily 
ashamed of yon. Your mother’s husband is a gentle- 
man, at least, which is more than will ever be said of 
her son, I fear.” 

Le Grand cowered a little under the flashing of the 
brilliant eyes. It was not a pleasant thing to en- 
counter. 

“ Well, you’ll go with me, wont you ? ” he asked in 
subdued tones. 

“No, I will not; you have no right to a holiday. 


04 


Koyalized. 


Your tutor informed me only yesterday that you are 
neglecting your studies to such an extent that you 
are in a fair way to grow up a complete ignoramus. 
My grandson, 1 repeat that I am heartily ashamed of 
you. Moreover, I command you now to return to 
the school-room and remain there until dinner, and I 
advise you to make diligent improvement of your 
time. When I was at your age I needed no such 
bidding. Study was my delight; and recreation, 
when the hour for it came, was none the less enjoy- 
able because it had been honestly earned. ]^ow go 
at once, sir, and see if you cannot make something of 
yourself yet.” 

Le Grand skulked away suddenly. Fierce and un- 
governed as he was, he was a thorough coward, and 
the one person on earth of whom he stood in awe 
was his grandfather. To-day he was absolutely afraid 
of him. It was a relief to get beyond the sound of 
the stern voice. The old lawyer hid his eyes as the 
footsteps died away, and groaned in spirit. In all the 
world he had nothing to cling to now but this boy. 
Every other hope had fallen away and perished like 
the autumn leaves. He had struggled and cut his 
way up to the height of his present proud position 
with strong, untiinching hands. Ho one had helped 
him. It was a glorious thought that he had climbed 
all the way unaided. He had prided himself upon 
that fact all his life, and now what did it matter after 
all ? So here he stood in his old age, all alone, not 
one of all his race worthy to receive the laurel 
wreatli when his own brow must relinquish it ; not 
one whom, looking over the cliff, he could discover 
toiling up toward him with sure advances ; not one. 


Red and Geeen. 


95 


no, not one, upon whom liis eyes could rest with pride 
wlien they were growing dim and closing. It was a 
galling reflection. This was an honorable old age, 
and yet it wore no crown. They had all disappointed 
him* so sorely; and this boy, alas! the very thought 
of him was becoming a very bitter morsel, and yet it 
was all he had — all ! 

Mrs. Leroy, meanwhile, was making preparations 
for the’ reception of her step-daughter, with a flutter 
of the heart not wholly due to pleased anticipation. 
She had hitherto looked upon her husband’s daughter 
as something of a myth. Indeed, until within a day 
or two she had not considered her at all. She was 
aware of her existence, and that was simply all. 
That she would now be brought face to face with 
her, and in her own home, was a possibility which 
had never presented itself. A few days ago her 
husband, after a season of great unrest, had an- 
nounced his intention of hunting up his daughter, 
and taken his departure forthwith, somewhat speed- 
ily, upon his strange quest. This morning she had 
received a telegram, bearing this announcement : 

“ I am bringing Honor home. Send the carriage 
at four. R. L.” 

That was all. It is wonderful what a commotion 
a single sentence ha& power to raise. These two 
had, metaphorically, turned old Glendyn upside 
down. Mrs. Leroy shut her lips resolutely. She 
had a habit of shutting her lips when seriously dis- 
turbed. Petty annoyances called from her a stream 
of irritable utterances, but before a real trouble she 
was mute, and this was a more serious one than she 


96 


Royalized. 


was in the habit of meeting. In fact, tliis lady was 
finding of late tliat life had a very sharp, jagged edge. 
She liad seen but little of that edge hitherto. As tlie 
daughter of a wealthy and distinguished man, as the 
wife of an easy-going Southern gentleman, only 
smooth, polished surfaces had been presented to 
her. Marriage with Reginald Lero}^, however, had 
proved the tiling which was to show her more and 
more every day of the jagged edge. It was becom- 
ing more and more apparent that her husband’s will 
was a thing to be pre-eminently considered. It is not 
easy to set aside a life-long habit, and all his life 
Reginald Leroy had been accustomed to having his 
own way. He had no idea of giving it up now ; 
therefore, the woman who had found him so fascinat- 
ing before she accepted his chains soon awoke to the 
discovery that she had fallen into hands somewhat 
tyrannical ; not that he iiltended it so — not, indeed, 
that he had any conception of his own character in 
this respect. He would have opened his eyes very 
wide at hearing himself pronounced a tyrant. But 
what thoroughly selfish man is any thing else? Mrs. 
Leroy was learning, to her sorrow, that beneath her 
husband’s velvet glove there was the iron hand of 
ungoverned selfishness. She yielded to it as others 
had done, almost unconsciously, until at length she 
saw herself the victim of his every caprice. It was 
not a pleasant position to occupy for one not trained 
to it, but there was no going back. There was noth- 
ing to do but to make the best of the lot which she 
had so eagerly accepted. She had, therefore, no idea 
of disputing her husband’s right to bring his daughter 
home, since he elected so to do ; and as he had not 


Eed and Green. 


97 


even considered it needful to consult her wishes in 
the matter, to raise an objection would be worse than 
folly. Still, it was a matter over which the lady 
found occasion to grit her teeth in very bitterness of 
soul. Whatever this daughter of her husband might 
be. she was not a desirable acquisition to her house- 
hold. Viewed in every possible light the affair was 
a grievous one. She had surely no room in her heart 
for another eighteen-year-old girl. As for the room in 
her house, it was already filled to its utmost capacity. 
Indeed, the grand house, with its spacious apart- 
ments, afforded no possible place for this step- 
daughter, unless she chose to accept the little end 
room over the rear balcony, which had hitherto been 
used as a sort of cubby for the reception of super- 
fiuons household articles. 

It was this little room which she stood surveying, 
somewhat critically, this afternoon, when the four 
o’clock train whistled in the distance. In a few 
moments the travelers would arrive — and then how 
would the young lady receive this humble apartment 1 
To be sure, the view from those front windows was su- 
perb, and the lace curtains which draped them were 
costly webs of delicacy and exquisitencss, but then 
the carpet was simple ingrain. A pretty pattern 
enough, those woodbine leaves in the soft gray moss ; 
but in Maud’s room there was an Axminster, with 
flowers whose richness your feet almost feared to 
tread, though, of course, the stranger was not ex- 
pected to know that. The green and white cottage 
furniture was neat and pretty, even if it did have a 
cheap look. In fact, the room was well enough, 
viewed by itself. Viewed in contrast to her own and 
7 


98 


Eoyalized. 


Maud’s it was a little shabby. Mrs. Leroy was con- 
scious of a vague feeling of uneasiness as she looked 
the apartment over ; not as regarded her step- 
daughter — not by any means. She was at best only 
an intruder. But her husband’s right here was su- 
preme, and she was very sure that he would take de- 
cided exceptions to any thing like a shadow of disre- 
spect manifested toward his daughter, since he had 
chosen to acknowledge her. The utter selfishness of 
the man would resent even an implied slight placed 
upon any thing belonging to him. How were mat- 
ters to shape themselves amicably? Mrs. Leroy 
sighed as she turned the question over and over 
again. 

“Well, really!” spoke a voice at her elbow. It 
was Maud, who, stepping inside the door, cast a con- 
temptuous glance about the modest little bed-chamber. 
“Well, really, mamma, you have outdone yourself 1 
Bed carpet, green furniture ! Why did you not tie 
back the curtains with blue or yellow ? There’s a 
combination for you ! I hope Miss Leroy will appre- 
ciate your exertions in her behalf, for it must have re- 
quired a careful artistic calculation. It is really over- 
whelming 1 ” 

Mrs. Leroy turned upon her daughter a little 
severely. 

“The room is well enough, Maud — far better, 
no doubt, than any thing the child has been accus- 
tomed to. She is a green country girl, who has spent 
her life in the plainest, commonest of surroundings. 
She has probably never been out of the shadow of 
her native hills. What does she know of the har- 
mony of colors ? She is most likely in the habit of 


Ked and Green. 


99 


sleeping under a red and green patch- work quilt with 
a rag carpet on her floor — or, more likely, no carpet 
at all. This room "will look like a little paradise to 
her eyes, no doubt.” 

I hope so. I’m sure ; do you suppose she is 
pretty ? ” 

‘‘It is possible. If she looks like her father she 
can’t be far out of the way, and she must be passable 
or he would never think of bringing her here; but a 
child brought up as she has been cannot but be awk- 
ward and uncouth. What we shall do with her I’m 
sure I don’t know. I hope you will treat her de- 
cently, Maud.” 

Maud drew herself up a little haughtily. She was 
very tall, and had a fondness for assuming queenly 
attitudes. 

“As Ipong as the girl does not interfere with me we 
shall probably be able to endure each other; but 
let her take care how she conducts herself. I am 
the young lady of Glendyn. She is an interloper 
who has no possible right here. Mamma, if you 
were a woman of proper spunk she would never 
come. You allow yourself to be completely run 
over. The idea of being compelled to introduce a 
green, red-lianded Yankee girl as your daughter. It’s 
unendurable.” 

There was a sound of carriage wheels on the drive 
outside the window. Mrs. Leroy drew aside the 
curtains hastily. 

“ They are getting out at the side door, Maud,” she 
whispered. “ Well, I declare! ” 

Maud skipped across the floor with more than 
usual agility. She was more concerned about this 


100 


Eoyalized. 


step-sister than she usually cared to show. Mrs. Leroy 
waved her back with a little gesture of annoyance. 

“ Don’t be caught peeping, Maud, I entreat you.” 

Maud turned away scornfully. 

“ It is a matter of no consequence whatever to me,” 
slie said. “ Go down and make yourself agreeable 
to your new daughter, mamma. I will see her later ; 
that is, when I feel equal to the infliction.” 

Mrs. Leroy descended the stairs a little nervously. 
The brief glimpse which she had had of the young 
lady whom her husband was assisting from the car- 
riage did not tend to set her at her ease. One thing 
was manifest in that glance. It was no red-handed, 
green country lass whom she was about to welcome 
to her heart and home. It would have been easier, 
far easier, she thought, had it been so. 

She reached the lower hall, received her husband’s 
kiss, and with something strangely like embarrass- 
ment heard him saying : “ This is my daughter 
Honor, Mildred,” and then she looked at the young 
lady, and looked at her with eyes that grew wider 
and wider. Absolutely, the girl was without a flaw. 
Her form was slight and elegant, her dress stylish 
and tasteful, her manner gracious and self-possessed, 
her voice low and cultured ; but here Mrs. Leroy 
became aware that her stare was becoming pro- 
longed beyond the limits of good breeding. The 
big gray eyes which met hers were full of amused 
sparkles. 

“Excuse me, my dear,” she stammered, bending 
involuntarily to kiss the fresh lips. “I am sure 
I’m very glad to see you. Did you have a pleasant 
journey ? ” 


Red and Green. 


101 


“"We had a tedious one, Mildred,” put in JVJr. 
Leroy, pitying his wife’s unusual embarrassment. I 
know Honor is tired. Would it not be well for her 
to go at once to her room and get a little rested before 
dinner? ” 

When she had departed Mrs. Leroy turned some- 
what reproachfully upon her husband. 

Reginald, this is certainly a little too bad of you. 
You might at least have prepared me. How was I to 
know ? ” 

“ How were you to know what, may I ask ? You 
received my telegram, did you not ? ” 

Yes, this morning — a dozen words. Why could 
you not have sent a letter ? ” 

“ Letters, my dear, are slow methods of communi- 
cation in this age of rapid transit. Had I written you 
would have probably received the intelligence of my 
arrival to-morrow morning. Letters, at best, are un- 
satisfactory things. Now you are privileged to re- 
ceive information direct from the fountain-head. Ask 
what you will. What is it you wish to be prepared 
for ? ” 

“ I supposed your daughter was a little girl,” said 
Mrs. Leroy, reproachfully. 

‘‘Well, so she is — is she not? I thought so. It 
cannot be that you are struck with her unusual 
size ? ” 

“ You know what I mean, Reginald. 1 thought of 
her as a child.” 

“You may continue to think so; she is not much 
more — a school-girl, if you will. But you were 
surely aware that it is almost twenty years since I 
married her mother. Honor is eighteen.” 


102 


Koyalized. 


Mrs. Leroy looked at her husband thoughtfully. 
She is a very pretty girl,” she said with some con- 
straint of manner. 

“ Ah ! that’s the trouble, is it ? Did you expect my 
daughter to be hideous, Mildred ? ” 

“ No, O no ; not that. But being brought up in the 
country I was not prepared to find her as she is.” 

‘‘How is she?” asked Mr. Leroy provokingly. 

“ O, you know as well as I do that she is exceed- 
ingly stylish in her appearance. I should not hav^e 
hesitated to pronounce her a city girl. How do people 
born and bled in the wilderness get such an air as 
that ? ” 

“ In what wilderness do you imagine I picked her 
up, Mildred ? ” 

“ I supposed she lived with an old aunt or some- 
thing in Massachusetts.” 

“And being a down-east Yankee must, of neces- 
sity, be an orang-outang; eh, Mildred?” 

“ Why, no. Only of course one cannot expect any 
o’reat deo^ree of culture from tliat sort of a brinorino^ 
up. Where has she spent her life, any way ? ” 

“Just where you supposed — with her aunt in Mas- 
sachusetts. T found her in Boston.” • 

“ How came she there ? You told me — ” 

■ “ Certainly I told you. Please do not imply that 
I am in tlie liabit of - making false statements, Mrs. 
Leroy. My meeting Honor in Boston was the merest 
accident. I happened upon her rather odd name in 
my morning paper, among a list of graduates in a 
girls’ school in the city, and having a strong convic- 
tion that this Honor Leroy was my Honor I did not 
fail to put in an appearance at the specified hall 


Eed and Green. 


103 


that evening, and was rewarded by the discovery that 
I was the father of one of the finest girls in Massa- 
cliiisetts. I tell you, Mildred, it was Honor’s appear- 
ance upon that stage and the very apparent admiration 
which she excited that decided me to take possession 
of her. Had I found her, as I rather expected, an 
ignorant, awkward country maiden, it is not likely 
that I should have cared to assert any claim to her.” 

“But is it not strange that you were able to recog- 
nize her there, in that public place and under such 
circumstances? How could you be sure that she be- 
longed to you ? There might be a dozen Honor 
Leroys in such a city as Boston.” 

“ Possibly ; but there could hardly be one with my 
mother’s smile and eyes so vividly reproduced as in 
this one. It needed only a glance at this ‘ sweet girl 
graduate ’ to convince me as to her origin ; and to say 
the least, Mildred, I am proud of her.” 

Tliere was a light in his eyes as he spoke, and a 
tenderness about his lips that the wife had never seen 
there before. A swift rush of jealousy swept over 
her. What right had she to her husband’s love, this 
young girl whom, until three days ago, he had never 
seen ? What if she was his daughter, since all her 
life he had not known her! She might have been 
the daughter of any other man as well. What a pity 
that she had not been ; or that, being his, he had not 
been content to live out his life without her ! Some* 
thing of this sentiment found expression in her next 
remark. 

“ I wonder that you did not think of your daughter 
before —in the years when you were alone in the world, 
I mean. You have me now.” 


104 • 


. HOYALIZED. 


“ And a pleasant home. Why should I not have 
my family together? Surely, Mildred, you are not 
annoyed that I brought tlie child home ? ” 

“ O, no, no ! ” she said hastily, interpreting the rising 
flush in her husband’s cheek. “Not in the least an- 
noyed, Eeginald; it is the proper thing, of course, 
only I wonder at your not looking after her before.” 

“ Why,” he said smiling, “ one good thing makes 
a man long for another. Having found a good wife 
and children created a natural longing for my stray 
lamb, I suppose. Now, Mildred, do, for heaven’s 
sake, let the subject drop for the present. I’m tired 
as a dog, and hungry besides, and there’s a life-time 
ahead of us for the discussion of Honor, and if I’m 
not mistaken she is likely to give us sufficient occa- 
sion. So, my dear, if you will be good enough to 
hurry up dinner a little I will consider it a favor. 
This eating at railway stations is rather unsatisfactory, 
to say the least.” 

Mrs. Leroy went to give her orders with little un- 
comfortable twinges of something she could not ex- 
plain darting through every fiber of her being. The 
vision most distinct in her disturbed imagination was 
that of the red and green room. The strange inap- 
propriateness of things haunted her unmercifully. She 
could not get rid of it. 

“ If I had known,” she kept repeating regretfully ; 
“if I had only conjectured — but how could I?” 

The object of this self-reproach meanwhile had 
never bestowed so much as a thought upon the incon- 
gruity of colors in the room to which the polite serv- 
ant had conducted her. Having tlirown aside her 
hat, smoothed her hair, and shaken off the dust from 


Red and Green. 


105 


her garments, she was leaning out of the window with 
parted lips and kindling eyes. The picture outside 
was so wonderful in conception and execution that it 
threw the picture inside quite into oblivion. What 
mattered it if the carpet were re.d and the chairs 
green, or the carpet pink and the chairs yellow ; or if, 
indeed, all the colors of the rainbow were jumbled 
together in them ? Of what possible account was that, 
when from the windows one could get hourly views 
of paradise ? Honor, who had lived all her life under 
the shadow of great hills, had never until to day 
rested eyes and heart upon that glorious gift of the 
Master Artist, the Catskill range, as it rises blue and 
majestic from the fair shores of the lordly Hudson, 
It was a rare sight, and to-day it had the charm of 
newness, but Honor knew that to her eyes it would 
never grow old or tame. Just now, in the glow of 
the June afternoon, the sun lay still and golden, shad- 
inoj into tenderest o^reen as it neared its shores. The 
mountains were taking on soft shades of rose and 
purple where the slanting sunbeams fell fullest upon 
them. Truly there was an exquisite variety of color 
in tlie world to-day ! 

“ How impossible it is to reproduce nature,” thought 
Honor, with a little impatient slirug of the shoulders. 
‘‘Any attempt at transferring those colors to canvas 
would be pronounced an exaggeration and a daub.” 

• She stopped short and leaned further out of the 
window. Her eyes were caught this time by some, 
thing which was neither graceful curve nor gorgeous 
tint. It was simply a boat — a little boat, quite out 
from shore, with what might be a person lying full 
length in the bottom of it, while not far away a 


106 


Royalized. 


steamer was bearing down upon the little boat white 
and stately. Honor snatched her opera-glasses from 
the bureau and adjusted them to her eyes. They did 
not help her much, but the distance seemed very short 
between the steamer and the boat. Could it be the 
occupant had fallen asleep out there on the quiet 
waves ? The thought sent the blood from Honor’s 
warm cheek. In a moment she was down-stairs, fly- 
ing on winged feet to the river brink. She could 
see quite plainly now. The row-boat was not so far 
out as she had at first supposed. It seemed to be 
drifting slowly landward. With the aid of her glass 
she could distinguish the outlines of a boy’s figure 
and a tangle of bright-colored hair resting upon one 
of the seats. Whether the boy were awake or asleep 
she could not determine, but surely he could have no 
possible idea of the swift destruction which was ap- 
proaching him. Would the roaring and the rushing 
arouse him in time, or would he lie there unconscious 
until he found himself struggling in the seething cur- 
rent? Twice she essayed to shout to him, but her 
voice died away hoarsely in her excitement. She 
stood a moment actually riveted to the spot, incapable 
of speech or motion. 

“ I must do something,” she managed to ejaculate 
at length, her senses coming back with the sound of 
her own voice. Perhaps she was nervously overesti- 
mating the danger. The boy would never be so fool- 
ish as to allow himself to sleep in such a spot as that, 
but it was not in Honor Leroy’s nature to stand there 
idly and await the consummation of events. She 
must do something, and there being nothing she 
could do but call to him, she did that most lustily. 


Hed and Geeen. 


107 


sending shout after shout across the golden water. 
Surely some one must hear and come to the rescue. 
Ah, thank God ! he is awake at last. He is getting 
up and grasping the oars. Honor’s hands clinch 
themselves spasmodically. The boat is in the full 
swell of the steamer now. It is tossed up like an 
egg-shell. It must go over. 

There follows a sick, dizzy moment, then the 
steamer, with its crowded decks and gay flags, sweeps 
past like a graceful bird, and Honor drops to the 
grass pale and trembling, but thankful, O so thank- 
ful ! for the little craft has held its own nobly, and 
comes rocking speedily to shore. 

The boy’s face, as he springs out, is scarcely less 
white than Honor’s own ; he is trembling all 
over. 

O, I am so glad, so glad ! ” cried Honor, laying 
hold upon his arm involuntarily in her joy. 

He shook her off rudely. 

“ Who the dickens are yon ? ” he asked, trying to 
hide the shake in his voice by its assumed roughness. 
Honor looked- him over indignantly. His face was 
as disagreeable as his manner, she thought. 

‘‘ Whoever I am, young gentleman, I have been the 
means of saving your life,” she said hastily, her 
cheeks burning at his ingratitude. 

‘‘ Pooh ! nonsense ! It’s no such thing ! Saving 
my life, indeed ! What from. I’d like to know ? ” 

‘‘ From sudden destruction,” said Honor emphatic- 
ally. “ In a few minutes the steamer would have run 
you down, and you know it. What on earth was the 
matter ? Were you asleep ? ” 

I don’t know,” he said, breaking down in spite of 


108 


Koyalized. 


liis efforts. “ I must have been, I suppose. The first 
thing I remember was hearing some one scream, and 
when I opened my eyes I didn’t know where I was 
until I heard the steamboat, and, my goodness ! I 
thought it was all over, for a minute.” 

“ And so it would have been but for a merciful 
providence,” said Honor solemnly. “ I hope you wdll 
never forget it.” 

He turned and surveyed her curiously. 

“ Who are you, any way ? ” he asked. 

‘‘ My name is Honor Leroy, if that is wLat you 
want to know, though I cannot see that it concerns 
you particularly.” 

He stared at her incredulously for a moment, then 
gave a low whistle. 

My new sister ! Well, of all things ! ” 

“Your what?” 

“ Why, my sister, that’s what you are ; and I declare 
if I don’t begin to like the idea. You’re lots better 
than Maud, any way.” 

“ Who is Maud ? ” 

“ Haven’t seen her, eh t Well, you’ll see her soon 
enough, and enough of her. I’ll bet. She’s Maud, 
that’s who she is ; my other sister.” 

“What do you mean by your other sister? You 
are talking very queerly.” 

He looked at her doubtfully. 

“ It can’t be, now, you’re so green as you make out, 
if you are a Yankee. Don’t you know having the 
same father and the same mother makes folks broth- 
ers and sisters ? ” 

“ What has that to do with what you are talking 
about ? ” 


Red and Green. 


101 ) 


“ Why, look here, greeny ; if iny motlier is your 
father’s wife don’t that make you my sister ? ” 

I don’t know,” hesitated Honor ; “ it might, per- 
haps, 'after a fashion — not a very pleasant fashion, 
tliough ; but of course you are talking nonsense. 
Your mother is not my father’s wife.” 

“ Aint she, though ? I’ve wished lots of times she 
wasn’t, but she just is, and your father’s my fa- 
ther. Can’t be, now, he forgot to mention me to 
you ? ” 

He never told me a word about you ! ” burst out 
Honor excitedly. “ If he had I — ” 

“ Wouldn’t have come, eh ! Well, you’re here now, 
for better or worser. What d’you think of the 
prospect ? ” 

“ How many are there of you ? ” she asked, disre- 
garding the question. 

“ ‘Sisters and brothers, little maid, how many may you be?’ 

‘‘She answered, ‘We are seven.’ Seven of us in 
all, sister Honor. Allow me to welcome you to the 
bosom of your family.” 

“ I know that is not true,” said Honor impatiently. 
“ I should think you would feel like any thing but jok- 
ing, seeing you have just narrowly escaped a watery 
grave, through your own careless stupidity.” 

“ How do you know I am not telling the truth ? ” 

“ Because I know my father would never have 
married any woman with seven children. Will you 
tell me ? I hate surprises.” 

“ So do I. Well, let’s make a bargain. There’d 
be a harry of a row at the house if the folks found 
out about my careless stupidity, as you politely call 


110 


lioYALIZED. 


it. Mother’d tie me fast to her apron-strings, and 
have a fit of hysterics besides. So, if you’ll promise 
to keep dark. I’ll agree to be your everlasting friend, 
aider, and abettor from this day forth. If you peach, 
it’ll be the other way, and I warn you not to under- 
take me as an enemy ; now, winch’ll it be ? Choose 
this day whom you will serve.” 

“ I am very certain I shall not serve you,” said 
Honor, laughing a little in spite of herself. ‘‘ It is 
not likely that I shall trouble myself to tell tales, 
though. I would have no object in that. I’m willing 
enough to keep the secret. How, will you tell me ! ” 

“Yes; there’s just Maud and me and mother and 
grandfather — us four and no more. Maud’s a stun- 
ner, as you will perceive presently. Yonder she 
comes now, nose in the air as usual. Mind you don’t 
let her overtop you. Gracious, what airs that girl 
gives herself ! Hallo there. Miss Whitney ! W ould 
your royal highness deign to condescend to us mor- 
tals of low estate ? ” 

She came, picking her way toward them, the deli- 
cate folds of her embroidered dress held carefully 
away from contact with the grass. She seemed very 
tall as she towered above the pair who lounged upon 
the pebbly bank. She glanced down upon them with 
an expression of cool disdain. 

“ I suppose this is Miss Leroy,” she said, extending 
the tips of her long white fingers to Honor. 

“ It is no such thing ! ” broke in Le Grand rudely. 
“ It’s your sister Honor, and no use your putting on 
such toppiness either. You look like a mullein-stalk 
beside a moss-pink when you look down on her, so 
where’s the use ? ” 


Ked and Gkeen. Ill 

Maud’s pale cheek did not change its color in the 
least. 

“ Mamma requested me to invite Miss Leroy in 
to dinner,” she said, without even so much as a 
glance at her brother, and then she turned haught- 
ily away, leaving them to follow or stay at their 
pleasure. 

How very disagreeable ! ” thought Honor with a 
sinking heart. 


112 


Royalized. 


YIII. 

BIRDIE. 

“It seems as if when beside thee 
I ought to God entreat 
That he may ever keep thee 
So fair and pure and sweet.” 

It was just noon. Birdie knew that by the frolic- 
some bar of sunshine whicli danced upon the wall. 
Every day at noon the sunbeam appeared in just that 
spot. Birdie had grown to watch for its appearing 
as for the face of a friend, for it was good to get a 
smile from the outside world even in these burning 
July days. Here, in this dim, dark attic, whose only 
outlook was upon dirty brick walls and the tiniest 
speck of sky, one learned to appreciate sunbeams 
whenever or however they came. So Birdie’s eyes 
turned gratefully toward the bit of quivering light. 
It, at least, was not afraid of tarnishing its brightness 
by contact with the dingy old wall. It was just as 
golden and just as loving here as if it were dancing 
upon gilded tapestry and silken hangings. It was the 
one bit of brightness that dared to show itself in this 
poor home. 

O world, thou art fair ! ” caroled Birdie, her voice 
ringing through the wretched apartment with the 
clearness of a silver bell. A blonde head which was 
lying upon the window-sill jerked itself up impatiently 
at the sound, and a pair of blue eyes looked annoyed. 


113 


Birdie. 

“ O, do hush ! ” cried Belle, irritably. ‘‘ If you 
only knew what a disagreeable voice you have, Birdie ! 
I often notice people stopping to look up at these 
windows when you are screeching. I suppose they 
wonder what sort of an animal it is. And you’re for- 
ever at it. You have no idea how tiresome it is fo 
those who have to listen.” 

A wave of vivid crimson mounted to Birdie’s white 
forehead. Surely Belle could have no conception of 
the pain siie was inflicting. Ho, she had not. The 
blonde head drooped upon the folded arms again, and 
the blue eyes turned toward the street. Birdie looked 
at her soberly. There was no song on the pretty lips 
now. The child felt at that moment that she would 
never sing again. 

“ What a beastly day ! ” yawned Belle, wiping the 
perspiration from her forehead ; “ I can’t imagine 
how we are going to exist here through the summer. 
I’m just about suffocated.” 

“ Why don’t you go out ? ” suggested Birdie. 
“ You’ve been every day before, rain or shine.” 

“I haven’t the ambition to go across the alley to- 
day. It’s all one can do to breathe, keeping perfectly 
still.” 

“How lovely the country must be now. Belle. I 
wish we were back at Slippery Elm Hollow ; don’t 
you, just for to-day ? ” 

“Ho, I don’t ; not for an hour. I’d rather stifle to" 
death here. I’ll tell you where I would like to be, 
though,” raising her head with something like anima- 
tion in her pale face. “ I’d love to be in that part of 
the country where mamma lived when she was a girl. 
It isn’t very far away, either — somewhere along the 
8 


Eoyalized. 


lU 

Hudson Kiver. If I knew where it was I’d start out 
for it to-morrow. I declare I would, if I had to walk 
all the way.” 

‘‘What would you do when you got there? You 
\^uldn’t know any body.” 

“I guess I’d know niy grandfather. He lives 
there all alone, I s’pose. I should think he’d want 
some of his own people with him. At any rate, I 
don’t see how he could turn me out of the house if I 
once got there.” 

“You don’t mean you’d live with grandfather, 
Belle?” cried the little girl, rising to her feet ex- 
citedly. 

“Indeed I would, mighty quick, if I got the 
chance ; why shouldn’t I ? ” 

“ After the way he treated mamma ? ” said Birdie 
reproachfully. 

“ O, he w^asii’t so much to blame. She did an 
awfully foolish thing when she married father.” 

“ I s’pose she loved him,” said Birdie speculatively. 

“Well, shahad no business to, if she did.” 

“ Belle, do you know whom you are talking about ? 
I’d starve in the street before I’d live with grand- 
father.” 

“You’re perfectly welcome to. I don’t enjoy 
starving myself. I’ve tried it long enough. Is there 
any thing for dinner to-day?”' 

“ Yes, there’s cold meat and potatoes, and I’m go- 
ing to make a fire and boil some coffee.” 

“Make a fire ? No, you sha’n’t ! The room is suf- 
focating now.” 

“But Grand will want the coffee. Belle. He works 
very hard, you know.” 


Birdie. 


115 


“ I don’t care if lie does. Not a spark of fire shall 
you kindle in this room to-day. Put the things on 
the table, and let every body make the best of what 
there is.” 

“ But, Belle, you know the water isn’t fit to drinl^ 
and as long as Grand buys coffee we ought to make 
it for him.” 

“Well, stop your preaching. I don’t intend to 
more than parboil to-day if I can help it. You 
sha’n’t make a fire, and that ends it.” 

“I must go down and ask Mrs Blake to let me 
make the coffee on her stove, then,” sighed Birdie. 
“ She always keeps a roaring fire.” 

“ She’s welcome to it. and you’re welcome to enjoy 
it, only don’t bother me, and do try and keep a little 
quiet, child; you always make such a racket over 
every thing.” 

Birdie stepped on tiptoe to the cupboard, meas- 
ured out her coffee, and then paused, coffee-pot in 
hand, at her sister’s elbow. 

“ Belle,” she said, a wistful light in her eyes, “you 
didn’t mean what you said about my .voice just now, 
that it was dis — disagreeable ? ” The word came out 
with an effort. 

Belle raised her head sharply. 

“Yes; I did mean every word of it, and more be- 
sides. Y^oiir voice is horrid — worse than any screech- 
owl’s ; and if you have an idea that you will ever 
sing decently, get it out of your head directly. Y ou 
have no more voice than a crow. Now do you un- 
derstand? ” 

The fair head went down again, and the blue eyes 
closed obstinately. . They would not see the quiver- 


116 


Royalizkd. 


ing lips and the big starting tears. The child had 
no business to be so hurt over a plain truth. It was 
only her foolish vanity that suffered, and Belle had no 
sympathy with that. 

*5 Down the long, steep stairway climbed the little 
feet, all the lightness gone out of the tender heart. 
Never to sing again ! Ah, that would be taking 
all the stars out of Birdie’s darkened sky. But one 
thing was certain — if her voice was offensive it must 
be hushed. She could not bear rude, unkindly criti- 
cism. She could not bear that it should inflict pain 
upon a sensitive ear. Her voice! Her one treasure 
that had not been taken. ‘‘Worse than any screech- 
owl’s ! ” How the words stung ! What a sweet 
dream went out in the jarring sound. For Birdie 
had dreams. Away down deep in the pure little heart 
there was hidden a fond ambition — a vague, hope that 
some time this voice of hers might be cultured ; 
that its power of flexibility might be increased by 
some mysterious process, until some day she would 
sing like Patti or Nilsson, perhaps, of whom she 
had heard people speaking in the streets occasionally. 
Birdie set her mark high. There was no limit 
to her ambition in this direction. Why should she 
not grow to be a great singer? Other poor little 
girls had. Jenny Lind, she had heard, used to sing 
to her cat. May be the voice with which she sang 
was no sweeter than Birdie Gilmore’s. Circum- 
stances had developed her, why should not circum- 
stances develop Birdie Gilmore ? 

But ah, alas ! all these things were mere fancies ; 
dreams, idle dreams. She would never be any thing 
but poor Birdie Gilmore to the end of the chapter. 


Birdie. 


117 


All these other girls with whom she had compared 
herself had voices like angels. Hers was worse than 
any screech-owl’s. She had heard a screech-owl once 
at Slippery Elm Hollow, the day after her little 
brother died. She shuddered a little at the recollec- 
tion. And her singing was worse than that ! 

Mrs. Blake raised her round, red, perspiring face 
from her ironing-table to smile broadly as Birdie’s 
modest request smote upon her ear. Somehow she 
could never look at Birdie without smiling. There 
was no amusement in the smile, only genuine pleasure. 

“Yes, child, you’re perfectly welcome to use my 
stove whenever you’re a mind to,” she said heartily. 
“ Gracious, how softly you came ! I didn’t hear you 
singin’ down the stairs as usual. What’s come over 
you ? ” 

Birdie poured the water carefully upon her coffee, 
set the pot upon the stove, and turned a pair of sweet, 
longing eyes toward the good, kind face. 

“ Did you miss it ? Do you like to hear me sing, 
Mrs. Blake?” . 

“ Do I like it ? Well, I guess I do. Didn’t I like 
the birds singin’ in the woods that year we lived in 
the country ? That’s what your singin’ minds me on. 
Birdie Gilmore, only it’s sweeter than any bird’s I 
ever heard.” 

“ Do you really mean it ? ” cried Birdie, clasping 
her hands, her eyes growing bright as stars again. 

Isn’t my voice like a screech-owl’s?” 

“ How, who’s been mean enough to talk that way 
to you, child ? Why, your voice is lovely ; don’t you 
go to layin’ no sich stuff as that to heart. You 
sing as much as you’re a mind to. There’s an ear 


118 Royalized. 

down here that’s always glad to listen, I can tell 
you.” 

“ Thank you, Mrs. Blake,” said Birdie gravely, her 
eyes still shining. 

May be she did not know. She was very unedu- 
cated, this good woman. She had never heard 
Nilsson or Patti. She could hardly have told what 
an opera was. But then she had an ear — an ear that 
could appreciate the robins and the bluebirds ; and 
were they not singers of God’s own training ? Truly 
the light was sweet. 

‘‘ Thank you, Mrs. Blake,” repeated Birdie, with 
the same grave smile, as she turned to leave the room 
with her steaming coffee-pot. 

The “ Thank you ” lingered pleasantly in Mrs. 
Blake’s ears. It meant more than usual to-day.^ 

“ Some one’s been pesterin’ the child. I’ve chirked 
her up a bit,” she thought, not dreaming that it was 
the joy of having ministered to this little one which 
made her heart so light in spite of the heat and weari- 
ness of the day. There are kind hands which are 
doing the loving Father’s work hour by hour with no 
idea that it is his approving smile which makes the 
work so sweet. 

Grand Gilmore, coming in at half past twelve, 
found the little table neatly and carefully set, and 
Belle still lounging in the open window. 

‘‘ Where’s Birdie ? ” he asked, dropping wearily 
upon a wooden bench and fanning himself witli his 
hat. 

Birdie, Birdie ! always Birdie ! ” cried Belle, rais- 
ing her head and looking him over scornfully. “I 
don’t believe you could exist a day wdthout Birdie. 


Birdie. 


119 


Before I’d be so bound up in a cbit like that, if I was 
a big fellow, almost a man ! Don’t you see how silly 
it looks. Grand ? ” 

“ ^N'o, I don’t ; it is just Birdie that makes any 
place home to me. I don’t think X could exist with- 
out her.” 

He pushes back the thick damp hair from his fore- 
head as he speaks, rises and walks slowly across the 
room, his eyes fixed thoughtfully upon the fioor. He 
has grown very tall in the two years. It is not ex- 
actly the same Grand Gilmore whom we left stand- 
ing at baby’s grave in the cold November rain. The 
soul looking out from these clear dark eyes to-day is 
tlie soul of a man. Clearly, childish things have been 
])ut away. Life has grown a very serious thing to 
this boy of eighteen. He has found no time for 
trifling in these years in which the daisies have grown 
thick over baby’s grave. They have been hard, 
struggling years. His face has lost its boyish round- 
ness. He is growing thin. Even Belle notices it 
at this moment as her eyes follow him a little anx- 
iously. If any thing should happen to Grand ! But, 
nonsense ! What could happen to a great, strong, 
strapping fellow like that? 

“ It’s only this stifling heat that makes you thin. 
You’re well, aint you, Grandie?” she said suddenly, 
rising and giving the table-cloth a little nervous 
twitch to straighten out an imaginary wrinkle. 

A gleam of the old mischief flashed into Grand’s 
eyes. This unusual solicitude on the part of Belle 
was somewhat amusing. He pressed his hand to his 
forehead and shook his head dolefully. 

“ Don’t know about that. Belle. I am growing 


120 


Royalized. 


thin, that’s a fact, and now that I think of it, I do 
feel poorly. Shouldn’t wonder if I’m on the verge 
of a sunstroke. I tell you it’s no fun, working in the 
brick-yards to-day. Did it ever occur to you. Belle, 
to imagine what on earth would become of you if I 
should be taken from you ? ” 

Belle caught the glance in his eyes and pursed up 
her lips. 

“ There’s not the slightest danger of such a thing, 
my dear boy ; only the good die young. But really. 
Grand, why don’t you get something else to do ? That 
dirty work is making you look like a barbarian, and 
you used to be quite handsome ; you did, really.” 

‘‘ Did I, indeed ? What a pity that youth and 
beauty should be sacrificed to bread and butter, isn’t 
it. Belle ? and yet we could scarcely do without eat- 
ing. However, if you say so we’ll try it. I am 
rather tired of this dog’s life. What do you say, 
Belle ? Shall we turn paupers ? ” 

a "VV'e’re not much more now,” said Belle, returning 
to her window and her yawning. “ Why don’t that 
girl hurry along with her stupid old coffee ? There 
she comes now, and some one else too,” turning to 
listen as a heavier tread sounded behind the light 
footsteps. I declare it’s that beast, father ! ” 

Grand lifted his head warningly, and the hasty 
tongue bridled itself. They sat down at the poor 
little table in utter silence, these four. They were 
always silent when the father was present. Belle 
dared not speak, because she knew she should say 
- something ugly, and Grand never permitted any dis- 
respect to his father. She had learned that long ago, 
and she had learned to obey him in this regard. It 


Birdie. 


121 


was the sole restriction which he placed upon her. 
There was no boyish tyranny about him. That Belle 
would not have tolerated, but in this matter of im- 
pertinence toward her father she knew she must sub- 
mit, as the weaker nature always must submit to the 
stronger. 

So they took their seats in silence. Grand thought- 
fully preoccupied, Belle sullen and scowling, as she 
always was in her father’s presence. Birdie grave 
and sweet, with drooping eyes and happy face.* In 
truth, Birdie’s face was a very sweet study to-day, 
with the heat making her hair curl in close little rings 
like vine tendrils, and bringing out the prettiest roses 
imaginable in cheeks and lips. There was no shadow 
of disturbance upon this face. It was calm and rest- 
ful as a summer morning. The brother and sister 
glanced at her many times during that meal, the one 
fondly admiring, the other jealously so. But theirs 
were not the only eyes attracted toward Birdie to-day. 
Hugh Gilmore was not in the habit of looking into 
his children’s faces. Indeed, he had almost lost the 
power of looking into any face not polluted like his 
own, but to-day the man was wholly himself. It was 
singular, too, that it should be so, for he had met 
with an unusual stroke of fortune that morning. 
He had picked up a pocket-book containing twenty- 
five dollars. Years ago he woUfld sooner have thought 
of juitting a live coal into his bosom than of hid- 
ing that money there; but King Alcohol gives his 
subjects a very thorough drill in the school of forget- 
fulness. Hot that this man had quite forgotten that 
there was a divine command which read, “ Thou shalt 
not steal,” nor that he was living in a land whose 


122 


Royalized. 


laws he was bound to obey. Low as he had fallen, 
he had never deliberately stretched out his hand and 
appropriated his neighbor’s goods. But this w^as a 
ditlerent matter. The treasure had been cast at his 
very feet. He was not his brother’s keeper. It was 
simply an affair of loss and gain — his neighbor’s loss, 
his gain. All the same, he did not feel quite as jubi- 
lant over this streak of good luck as might have been 
supposed. He had no inclination to make merry with 
his friends over the stolen money. It was this which 
brought him soberly and thoughtfully home at this 
sultry noon hour to sit down at meat with his chil- 
dren, which was a rare occurrence with him. And 
thus, looking into Birdie’s lovely face to-day with so- 
ber and comprehending eyes, he beheld something to 
which his eyes had been blinded for years and years. 

It was the face of a young girl whom he had passion- ” 
ately loved, a girl at whose feet he had cast himself 
witli grand promises in that spring-time of life when 
the world was very fair. That face had almost per- 
ished from his memory during these years of his 
wretchedness and bondage, but at this moment it rose 
up out of the darkness, and beamed upon him fair as 
the morning ; for Birdie’s face to day was the living 
semblance of her mother’s. Strange that he had 
never observed it before — but then he scarcely remem- 
bered to have looked at the child before in months. 
She was growing and developing, unfolding like a 
rose. She would never be tall, but, all unconsciously, 
she was taking on the peculiar stateliness of the 
Le Grands. He bent forward to look at her a little 
more eagerly. Yes, this was a flower that must be 
transplanted to richer soil. Why had he never 


JJiRDIE. 


128 


thought of it before? For a new idea was struggling 
through his muddled brain, an idea to which he held 
on until it assumed feasibility. He did not go out 
as usual after dinner, but, greatly to Belle’s annoy- 
ance, lingered about the room, watching Birdie as she 
cleared away the dishes, swept up the crumbs, and 
lowered the old green paper shades. 

“ Don’t go back to-day. Grand,” she had whispered 
in her brother’s ear. “ It’s too hot to work. Take a 
holiday and come with me to the park or somewhere, 
where we can see the sky and the grass.” 

Grand hesitated. It was not often that Birdie 
tempted him to neglect of duty. He had half a mind 
to yield to her. It was hot, and he needed a rest 
more than any one knew but himself, but to take it 
without the right, even though the remissness brought 
liim nothing worse than a reprimand, would involve 
the violation of that principle of honesty which had 
rooted itself very deeply in his young life. 

Ilot this afternoon, little Bird,” he said resolutely, 
pulling his hat down over his forehead, “ but we’ll 
go to-night. I’ll be home at six, and we’ll start di- 
rectly. How will that do ? ” 

That would do beautifully, so the clear shining of 
the big eyes told him, and he departed whistling on 
his way. 

Belle, after several black looks toward her father, 
smoothed her rumpled hair, knotted a blue ribbon 
about her throat, fastened a tawdry bit of cheap lace 
and pink flowers upon her head, and went to spend 
the afternoon, where she usually spent it, upon the 
streets. 

Birdie, left alone with her father, was a trifle un- 


124 


Koyalized. 


comfortable. She was not afraid of Mm to-daj ; he 
was perfectly sober, she knew, but it was not pleasant 
to be alone with birn. She wished he would not look 
at her so persistently. She hurried through the work 
with less than her usual painstaking, and was about 
slipping down-stairs to Mrs. Blake, when she heard 
her name spoken very gently. Slie turned surprised. 
Could it be her father’s voice ? He used to speak in 
that tone to mamma sometimes, but she thought he 
had forgotten how, it was so long ago. 

“ Come here a moment,” he said, holding out his 
hand with a smile. Birdie went quite close to him. 
His breath did not smell of bad whisky to-day. He 
drew her to him and smoothed her hair gently. 

“You get very tired of living here in these close, 
hot quarters, don’t you, little girl ? ” he asked insin- 
uatingly. 

“ Yery tired,” said Birdie, marveling. 

“ How would you like to take a little jaunt out into 
the country with me this afternoon ? I have some 
business to attend to up the river a little way, and it 
would be a charming ride ; eh. Birdie ? ” 

Birdie’s eyes widened. 

“ Up the Hudson Eiver, do you mean ?” she asked. 

“ Yfis, certainly ; why not ? Bun and get ready. 
Put on the best clothes you’ve got, and curl your hair 
its prettiest.” 

Birdie went with a bounding heart and crimson 
flushes of delight chasing themselves across her fair 
cheeks. It was like light to them that sit in darkness, 
the very thought of it. It never occurred to her to 
distrust her father. Birdie was one of those immeas- 
urably charitable souls which can breathe the very air 


Biedie. 


125 


of iniquity and still tliink no evil. Wretched, un- 
worthy father though he had been, Birdie was still 
ready to clasp her hand in his and go with him to the 
end of the earth, if only she saw him clothed and in 
his right mind as he was to-day. So in a very few 
moments she appeared, simply dressed in the pretty 
blue muslin that Grand had bought her only last week, 
a white linen collar at her throat, and a broad-brimmed 
hat with a band of blue ribbon over the soft curls. 
There was never a cheap or tawdry look about Birdie- 
Poorly as she was clothed she always managed to re- 
tain a neatness and simplicity of arrangement which 
bespoke her innate refinement. 

Mr. Gilmore looked her over with great satisfaction. 

‘‘ A lady, every inch,” he thought. She was her 
mother’s own. hfobody need be ashamed to own her. 

And then they went. Birdie had a confused recol- 
lection of a great depot with long lines of cars and 
a vast amount of bustle and noise, and soon she was 
steaming away out of the darkness and the uproar 
into the flashing sunlight, and then, O happiness ! the 
beautiful river burst upon her charmed eyes, with its 
blue hills and emerald banks. She sat holding fast to 
the car window, this eager-eyed girl, happily unmind- 
ful of dust and cinders and sun-glare. What mattered 
these petty annoyances to one who was swinging along 
mile after mile through paradise ? Birdie’s eyes did 
not weary, but after an hour or two it began to dawn 
upon her that they were going farther than she had 
anticipated. 

Are we ’most there ? ” she asked, with a little 
sigh. 

What, not tired yet, little one ? ” 


126 


Royalized. 


“R’o. 0 no ! Tired ! I sliould think not ; but we 

have come a good ways. Wont we be late getting 
back ? ’’ ’ 

“ Don’t worry your head about that, child. Take 
pleasure while you can get it.” 

And so they rushed on, past cities and villages, past 
forests, hills, and valleys, past lovely summer resi- 
dences and poor little cottages, past steamers and sails 
and ferry-boats. Birdie’s enjoyment was not quite 
so keen as at first. The thought of Grand coming 
home at six and finding only a closed and empty 
house had taken something of the edge off her happi- 
ness. She had been in the habit of caring for Grand 
so long that the idea of deserting him, even for this 
little while, worried the conscientious little soul. 

The hills across the river had grown into majestic 
proportions, and the sun was throwing all sorts of 
lovely lights and shadows over them, when at last 
Birdie felt her father’s hand grasp hers. 

‘‘ Come, we get out here,” he said shortly. The 
long train drew up at a small station, and in another 
moment they were upon the platform quite close to 
the river’s brink, while the train wound itself out of 
sight. 

“ Stand still a moment, Birdie. I must go in here 
and write a letter,” her father said, and then he dis- 
appeared through the door of the little station, leaving 
Birdie in a state of sad bewilderment and no small 
degree of anxiety. Suppose he had gone for some- 
thing to drink? Suppose he should be unable to get 
home? What was she to do in this strange place, so 
far away from Grand, with night coming on and no- 
where to go ? 


Bikdie. 


127 


Biifc her father, when he re-appeared, was quite 
himself, very grave and pre-occupied, but perfectly 
sober. Birdie was sure he had not been drinking. 
It always affected him at once. She drew a breath of 
relief, as she asked, 

Are we going back now, as soon as a train 
comes ? ” 

“O no ! not just yet. We’ll take a little walk first. 
This is a beautiful country, isn’t it?” 

“ Yes,” said Birdie abstractedly. It must be past 
six. Grand was at home by this time. “I am afraid 
we will miss the train back,” she ventured timidly, 
after they had walked some distance in silence. 

‘‘O, no danger. Here, child, stop. Do you see 
that house through the trees yonder ? ” 

Birdie peered through a forest of maples and elms 
and discovered something that looked like yellow 
stone. 

‘‘I see something which may be a house,” she 
said. 

It is a house, and a very fine one, as you will see 
at a nearer view. How, little girl, show what a busi- 
ness woman you can be. I want you to go in there 
and ask for the lady of the house and give her this 
letter. Mind you give it to no one but the lady 
herself. If she is not in, stay until she comes, and in- 
sist upon seeing her, and be sure you wait until she 
reads the letter. How, do you understand ? ” 

Poor, bashful, sensitive Birdie ! If he had bidden 
her to jump into the river she thought she could have 
done it easier. To go into that strange place, to insist 
upon seeing that strange lady, and deliver to her this 
strange letter, of whose contents she could have not 


128 Royalized. 

tlie remotest idea — it might be begging for aught she 
knew ! 

“ O, father, I can’t do it ! ” she cried, her big, 
startled eyes fastening themselves upon his face in 
mute appeal. 

“hfonsense! yes, you can.” Then roughly, “You 
can, and you must, and you shall. I will not take you 
home until you do as I bid you.” 

He opened the big iron gate and pushed her inside, 
swung it to and held it fast. Birdie turned one more 
appealing look upon his face, but reading in it no 
signs of relenting, clasped the letter tight in her hand 
and walked down the long, beautiful avenue under 
the thick maples, with a beating heart but very firm, 
resolute footsteps. 


A Vision. 


129 


IX. 

A VISION. 

“ And a stranger when he sees her 
In the street, even, smileth stilly, 

Just as you would at a lily.” 

The house as slie approached it assumed very stately 
proportions. The grounds looked superb in the ten- 
der shadows. Every-where there were beds of brill- 
iant flowers. There were lovely little fountains and 
fair statuary. In fact, it was a royally beautiful spot 
into which she had so unwillingly intruded. Birdie 
saw that at a single glance, but she had no eyes for 
these things now. She had only one thought — how 
best and quickest to accomplish her business and go. 

As she approached the front of the house she per- 
ceived that it was filled with visitors. The piazza 
seemed to lier startled eyes to be crowded with gayly 
dressed people, while on one side a group were play- 
ing lawn tennis, and another opposite lounging in 
hammocks and regaling each other with idle bits of 
nonsense and gossip. Whichever way she turned she 
must encounter a host. She stepped back aghast at 
the very thought of confronting that laughing, chat- 
tering, pleasure-seeking throng. Her first impulse 
was to fly back to her father as fast as her little feet 
could carry her. But Birdie Gilmore was not in the 
habit of shirking unpleasant duties. She had done 
harder things than this in her little life-time, though 
9 


130 


Eoyalized. 


this was very hard — how hard only a proud, sensitive, 
delicately strung soul like her own could imagine. 
But she must do it, she told herself, and get away. 
The train would not wait, and there was no time to 
lose. 

Running her eyes rapidly over the faces of those 
nearest her, she at once decided that the gentleman 
in the camp-chair near the bed of coleus looked the 
most approachable, and without stopping to consider 
the matter further she stepped up in front of him 
with downcast eyes. 

“If you please, sir,” she asked modestly, “could 
you direct me to the lady of the house ? ” 

The gentleman took his cigar from his lips and re- 
garded her in some curiosity. This was no ordinary 
face. Where did such a dainty bit of flesh and blood 
spring from ? He had an impression something as if 
one of the sweet English violets at his feet had sud- 
denly taken human shape and confronted him. 

“And you wish to see Mrs. Leroy?” he asked 
courteously. 

“ I don’t know, sir. Is she the lady of the house ? ” 

“ She certainly is.” 

“ Then, if you please, sir, I would like to see her 
just a moment — alone, if I can.” 

“ Step this way, then.” He arose good-naturedly, 
and pitying the child’s embarrassment led the way 
through a side entrance to the hall. “Show this 
young lady to Mrs. Leroy’s apartment,” he said to a 
servant who was passing. 

The girl looked at him doubtfully. 

“ Do you mean it, sir? You told me once this aft- 
ernoon not to allow her to be disturbed.” 


A Vision. 


131 


“Yes? Well, this will scarcely be a disturbance, I 
think. She is probably recovered from her headache 
by this time. It is a disorder which usually leaves 
with the sun. At all events, do as I tell you, and I 
will be answerable for the consequences.” 

Mrs. Leroy sat in a large easy chair by the window, 
very pale, but decidedly better. All the long day she 
had lain in her darkened room, pressing her throbbing 
head against her pillows, conscious only of weary 
hours of sick, dull pain. The sunset hour, however, 
was bringing coolness and relief. Strangely enough, 
as she lies here now, with the breeze from the river 
just stirring the hair on her forehead, and her tired 
eyes looking away through the tree-tops to the azure 
depths above them, she is thinking of a lovely young 
sister whose cool, dimpled hands used to charm away 
these headaches in the far-away days when life was 
only a song and a story. There was no dimpled 
hand to make those soft, cool passes over her fore- 
head now. Maud ? O no ! Maud never troubled her- 
self with other people’s ills and aches. She had 
enough of her own to attend to ; and then there never 
was another such pair of hands in the world as Rosa- 
lie’s. Altogether, there never was such another girl 
as Rosalie ; perhaps there never had been such a wom- 
an. Mrs. Leroy could not testify to that. She had 
never known her sister after she was nineteen. It was 
a cruel circumstance which had separated them, and 
one as foolish as it was cruel. She might have been 
a little more relenting toward her one sister, perhaps. 
Indeed, she had never dreamed, in the beginning of 
it, that the breach would last a life-time, and it would 
not had Rosalie’s husband not proved so unworthy. 


132 


Eoyalized. 


But a drunkard's wife ! How was it possible for her, 
Mildred Le Grand, to acknowledge as her sister a 
person who staggered under that disgrace ? And so, 
poor Bosalie had gone to her grave unrecognized and 
unforgiven. Well, it was her own fault. As she had 
sown so had she reaped. What other harvest could 
she have expected ? But then those little hands — how 
soft they used to be! Mrs. Leroy shut her eyes again 
and felt them upon her forehead ; shut her eyes and 
saw the lovely face bending over her with tenderest 
pity in the beautiful eyes ! What would she not give 
to look into those eyes to-day — those brown eyes which 
had a look in them of birds flying toward the light ? 

Well, a strange thing happened at that moment. 
Turning her head in answer to a timid rap upon her 
door, Mrs. Leroy beheld, as it were, a vision — the 
vision of a girl small and slight as Kosalie had been 
at twelve, with the same eyes, the same smile, the 
same curls, the same little hands. The great eyes 
were shining full into her own at this moment, and 
a vivid color was coming and going in the white 
cheeks. It was no ghost, but a round, rosy, living, 
breathing girl. She came forward hesitatingly, hold- 
ing out her letter. 

“ I am sorry to disturb you, ma’am,” spoke a soft, 
clear voice ; “ but the gentleman said I could come 
in. I was to give you this letter and wait until you 
read it.” 

“ And who are you, child ? ” Mrs. Leroy found voice 
to articulate. 

am Birdie Gilmore.” 

“ Gilmore ? Ah ! I might have known it. Where 
did you come from ? ” 


A Vision. 


133 


“ From 'New York.” 

“ To-day ? Who brought you ? ” 

“ My father.” 

‘‘ And he is here, too ? ” 

‘‘ He is waiting outside, ma’am.” 

‘‘ It was he, I suppose, wdio wrote the letter ? ” 
“Yes. Will you please read it, so that I can be 
going ? ” 

Mrs. Leroy broke the seal reluctantly. She was 
decidedly loth to read any thing from the pen of the 
man who had brought so much unhappiness into tin’s 
home, and yet a sort of curiosity impelled her. What 
could have induced him to send this child here — this 
child with Rosalie’s eyes and Rosalie’s voice and Ro- 
salie’s very step ? She unfolded the letter with some 
nervousness. It was j ust a sheet rapidly and carelessly 
written. Hugh Gilmore used to be a tine correspond- 
ent in the days when he had stolen her sister away. 
It was plain to see that time had wrought sad changes 
in him. It began : 

Dear Madam : Pardon the style of address. 
I am not so fortunate as to be in possession of your 
present name. I learned yesterday, by the merest 
accident, that you had married a second time, and 
were spending the summer at the old place. I there- 
fore take the liberty of sending you our Birdie, 
hoping that you will have the goodness of heart to 
keep her and give her a decent bringing up. I can’t 
do it. You know what I have become. If she stays 
with me I can’t answer for her future. She is wor- 
thy of something better than a poor shop-girl’s life 
and its temptations. If you have a wmman’s heart, 


134 


HOYALTZED. 


for the sake of your poor sister save this child. I 
resign lier to your keeping from this day forward. 

^‘Hugh Gilmore. 

“ P. S. — I will wait at the gate for your answer. 
Birdie knows nothing of the contents of this letter.” 

Mrs. Leroy read it through quietly, folded it up 
with slow, careful fingers, and turned her eyes to the 
window again. It was very unlike any thing she had 
ever known of Hugh Gilmore to make this request. 
He used to be proud as a young prince when she 
knew him ; but then a drunkard, ah ! and he would 
thrust his child upon her for life. The audacity of 
tlie thing was almost amusing. Surrender all right 
and title to her, would he ? It \vas well he had made 
that statement plain ; and in the meantime what did 
he expect her to do with the child ? Could she re- 
ceive into her beautiful, cultured home this little 
street vagabond — this girl who had come to her from 
tlie very thick of city slums ? She turned again to 
look sharply at the girl still standing before her in 
her blue dress and broad white hat. Truly there was 
no touch of pollution about her external appearance. 
Her face was a gem ; but who knew what she was at 
heart ? She looked away to the clouds again. What 
if Rosalie’s own eyes were looking down upon her 
from the azure heights ? 

Mrs. Leroy drew a little sharp, quick breath. 

“ Did you say your father was at the gate, 
child?” 

‘‘Yes; and please if you would be so good as to 
answer the letter, or tell me what to say to him, I 
would like to be going.” 


A Vision. 


135 


‘‘ Are you in a hurry to get back to him ? ” 

“ I am afraid the train will be gone before we get 
to the depot.” 

Mrs. Leroy took a sheet of paper from her desk 
and wrote something upon it very rapidly, and, plac- 
ing it in an envelope, sealed it carefully. 

“ Take this to your father,” she said, “ and then 
come back to me.” 

Birdie looked at her astonished. 

“ Excuse me, madam, but I don’t think I can come 
back. It is growing late, and we have so far to go.” 

Mrs. Leroy waved her hand a little impatiently. 

“ Do as I tell yon, child, and ask me no questions. 
Your father will explain to you. l^ow hurry along.” 

Birdie went with flying footsteps out of the side 
door and down under the maples to the gate. Her 
father still stood as she had left him, leaning across 
the iron railing with folded arms. His face was very 
grave, very sad. Birdie thought. She handed him the 
note without speaking. He opened it eagerly, his 
face crimsoning as he read. Birdie watched him fold 
it up and put it in his pocket with a little sigh of 
relief. 

“ Shall we go now ? ” she asked. 

“ I shall go, my dear,” he said, with something of 
an effort. “ You are to stay here.” 

The ruddy color left Birdie’s cheeks. 

“ Stay here ! ” she repeated. 

“ Don’t you want to stay ? ” he asked. 

“ ]^o ! ” she cried vehemently ; “ not for the world ! 
Take me home, please.” 

“ Why do you want to go home ? It’s a poor place. 
There’s nothing there to interest you.^’ 


136 


Koyalized. 


^‘Yes, there is. There’s Grand. I’d rather live 
with Into in a cellar than here without him.” 

Her father leaned his head on his hand, thinking a 
moment. 

Birdie,” he said at length, looking at her gravely, 
“ this lady wishes to take you for her own. She has 
promised to educate and care for you, and bring you 
up to be a lady. How, will you stay, or will you go 
back to the wretchedest home in the world and grow 
up a beggar ? Choose.” 

“ I will go home to Grand,” said Birdie stoutly. 
‘‘ He won’t let me grow up a beggar.” 

“ Listen, child. Grand is only a boy, with his own 
way to make, and a hard way it will be too, God 
knows ; and the more he has to do for the harder it 
will be. He’s an ambitious boy ; he’d make some- 
thing of himself if he had half a chance, but, ham- 
pered as he is, how can he ? Birdie, the kindest thing 
you can do for Grand is to stay here and make him 
proud of you some day.” 

How can I do that ? ” 

V Why, by growing into a lady instead of a poor 
shop-girl or seamstress ; learn to sing, perhaps, and 
to paint and embroider, and all those things.” 

Birdie’s eyes began their shining again, and then a 
new thought came to her mind. 

‘‘ Will she teach me to sing ? ” she asked eagerly. 

“ She will have you taught whatever you wish to 
learn, no doubt. She has abundant means to do any 
thing and every thing for you.” 

The color rose hotly in Birdie’s cheeks. 

“ Father, how came this lady to offer to do this for 
me ? Did you ask her ? ” 


A Vision. 137 

The father caught the indignation in look and 
voice, and laughed softly. 

“ The Le Grand pride,” he 'said, under his breath ; 
then gravely he spoke : 

Birdie, this lady was once a very dear friend of 
your mother’s. It is for her sake that she wishes to 
adopt you. She says in the note that she considers 
it a debt she owes to you. Now are you satisfied ? ” 
Is it true what she says ? Does she owe me any 
thing ? ” 

The man’s clinched hand came down upon the gate 
railing with sudden force. 

“Yes,” he said emphatically. “God knows she 
owes you a debt she can never pay in this wide world. 
Now, will you go to her, child, or must I take you 
back to pine to death in an attic, or grow up in the 
streets ? Choose, and choose quickly.” 

Birdie lifted her eyes, filled with sudden tears. 

“ I will stay,” slie said ; “ but O, Grand, Grand ! 
how will he live without me ? ” 

“ How will any of us live without you, child ? 
You have thoughts for no one but Grand. Do you 
suppose it costs me nothing to give away my own 
flesh and blood in this free-hand manner ? ” He 
drew her to him as he spoke, and touched his lips to 
her forehead. 

It was the first time since Birdie could remember 
that he had ever kissed her. She looked at him with 
increasing surprise. He seemed to have been meta- 
morphosed into some other being to-day. She could 
scarcely identify him with the wretched father she 
had known all her life long. 

“ Now go to the lady, my child,” he said, a strange, . 

i 


138 


Royalized. 


new tenderness in liis voice. “ Go, and make the very 
Lest you can of yourself.” 

But Birdie clung to him with tears. 

‘‘ I don’t know the lady, father. Suppose she is 
not kind to me ? ” 

“ She will be. If she is not,” his face darkening, 
let me know it at once. You know where to send 
a letter. But you need have no fears of that kind, 
child. She would not dare to misuse you. Will you 
go now ? ” 

Yes,” said Birdie, holding out her hand. Good- 
bye, father.” 

He drew her into his arms, parted the soft hair, 
and looked long into the lovely eyes. 

“ Good-bye, child,” he said huskily. “ God bless 
you, and make you such a woman as your mother was. 
As for your father, forget that you ever saw him.” 

He thrust her from him with sudden, tierce bitter- 
ness, pulled the gate to, and strode heavily away in 
the fragrant, rosy sunset. 


In the Gloaming, 


139 


X. 

IN THE GLOAMING. 

“ It blesses him who gives and him who takes.” 

Birdie looked after him with a sinking: heart. It 
seemed at this desolate moment as if some unkind 
wave of fortune had swept her upon a very bleak 
and barren shore. Not that it was at all so to the out- 
ward eye ; every thing was softly, exquisitely lovely 
in the red glow which the sun had left behind it, but 
of what avail was that when the child had parted — for 
aught she knew, for a life-time — with all she held dear 
on earth ? The pretty head with its wealth of soft 
hair dropped for a moment upon the iron railing, 
and a rush of scalding tears blinded Birdie’s eyes. 
But this would never do. She must go back to the 
strange home, and the lady who had promised, in 
exchange for these things, to give her those other 
things which all her life she had been longing for. 
She must step without faltering into this new life so 
suddenly thrust upon her. 

“ Make the best possible of yourself,” her father 
had said. It was grand advice, even though the lips 
that gave it were unworthy. It was such advice as 
the best of fathers in the world might not hesitate to 
speak to his children. The best possible ! Why, there 
were infinite possibilities. The thought braced up 
the little soul to its utmost. This was an opportunity 


140 . 


Royalized. 


she could not afford to throw away for a sentiment. 
If effort were required to meet it now, she would 
make that effort stanchly. As she turned to go 
back to the house she encountered some one. It was 
a young lady, stylishly attired and graceful in her aj)- 
pointments, but with a face so familiar that, uncon- 
sciously, Birdie stood still, smiling broadly. 

“ Wiiy ! ” she said ; “ why ! ” 

The young lady’s eyes, which had he§n studying 
the tree-tops, came down abruptly. 

“ Why, Birdie Gilmore ! ” she exclaimed. 

‘‘ O, you do know me,” said Birdie, a little be- 
wildered, looking studiously at the familiar face. 
Where, in all her poor, wretched little Avorld, liad 
she come in contact witli this rare, fair girl ? 

“ You remember Honor Leroy, do you not ? ” asked 
the young lady, smiling at her bewilderment. 

“ Honor ? O 3"es, the girl who came the night 
baby died ; but how — how did you come here ? ” 

‘‘And how did you come here?” smiled Honor, 
taking Birdie’s hands in hers. “ This is my home 
— my father’s home, I mean.” 

“ And is the lady your mother ? ” 

“What lady? Mrs. Leroy? Yes, I suppose so, but 
you have not told me yet where you came from, 
child?” 

“I came from Hew York. Father brought me, 
and I am going to stay here all my life, I think, with 
the lady, Mrs. Leroy.” 

“Ah, is it so?” Honor smiled pitifully. It 
seemed such a hard fate for this fair child, a bound 
girl to Mrs. Leroy. 

“ Come, and sit here under the trees. Birdie, and 


In the Gloaming. 


Ill 


tell me all about yourself and the rest of them. All 
Aunt Eoxy knew was that you had left Slippery 
Elm Hollow the spring I went to Boston. Where 
have you been drifting since ? ” 

“ O, every-where ! We did not stay three months 
in any place. We went wandering about like gypsies. 
You see, we couldn’t stay anywhere. Just as soon as 
Grand would get work his employers would lind out 
about father, you know, so we had to go wdiere we 
were not known. In the fall, after we left Massachu- 
setts^ the two little girls, Louise and Millie, died of 
diphtheria. Belle came near dying too, and I was 
very sick, but we pulled through, and then Grand 
managed to get us away from that place, and so on 
and on we w^ent, until, somehow — I don’t know how 
— we got to Hew York.” 

And you are living there now ? ” 

‘‘Yes, that is, the rest of them are. I have come 
here to live, you'know.” 

“Yes, I know,” said Honor hastily, pitying the 
hopefulness she saw in the shining eyes. “ Tell me 
about the rest of them-. Grand — does he continue 
his practical joking, or has time sobered him ? ” 

“ O, he never does any of those things now. He 
never has since that night. He likes fun, but he 
scarcely ever laughs any more. Belle likes the 
change, but I don’t. I’d give any thing, some days, 
just to bear one of his old hearty laughs. But he 
says he has no time for nonsense. You can’t think 
how hard he works, from early morning till dark, 
every day of his life.” 

“What sort of work is it ? ” 

“ O, I don’t know. He never tells us. It’s in the 


142 


Koyalized. 


brick-jards somewhere, and it’s very hard on him. 
You wouldn’t know Grand, Honor, he has grown so, 
tall and thin.” 

“ He’s a good brother to you, then ? ” 

“ Good ! O, you have no idea how good. Why, if 
it wasn’t for Grand we’d have starved to death long 
ago. He takes care of us all.” 

And Belle does nothing ? ” 

‘‘ O, no ; Grand wont let her go in a store, and 
there’s nothing else she will do.” 

a Why wont he let her do what she wants to ? ” 
“Because he cannot bear to have her so much in 
the streets. He’s very watchful of Belle.” 

“ And of you, too, is he not ? ” 

“ He’s very good to me, but I never care to run 
about as Belle does. I am the housekeeper, you 
know.” 

“ And what will Grand do for a housekeeper, 
now ? ” 

“I don’t know,” with a dubious shake of the head. 
“He’ll have a time of it, I’m afraid. Belle is not 
used to doing such things.” 

“Birdie, why did you come here? Did you want 
to leave Grand to the tender mercies of Belle ? ” 

“Ho, indeed ; it was none of my doings, any way. 
It was father who brought me. He said the lady 
wanted me, and that she would have me educated, and 
taught to sing and to be a lady. Do you think she 
really will. Honor?” 

“ I don’t know. I hope so,” said Honor reticently. 
But, child, are these things worth more to you than 
your brother ? ” 

“Ho, not more, only father said the best way I 


In the Gloaming. 


143 


could serve Grand was to make him proud of me. 
He might be proud of me some day ; might he not, 
Honor? ” 

“ He has every reason to be proud of you now,” 
said Honor, smiling into the eager face. “I know 
you will grow up worthy of every one who loves 
you.” 

In truth, Honor’s opinion of Grand Gilmore was 
not an exalted one. Her only remembrance of liim 
was as she had first known him, an idle, fun-loving 
boy, who had not scrupled to play a dishonest trick 
upon a large-hearted, simple-minded woman, simply 
for the gratification of his own foolish propensity. 
Tliat tlie two years had wrought changes for the 
better in him, she had no doubt, but as for accepting 
tlie belief that he had grown honorable and true and 
manly, that she could not. First impressions are 
hard to root out. It would take more than this 
child’s simple statement to convince her of Grand 
Gilmore’s worthiness. For Birdie, however, she had 
a very profound liking and admiration. Birdie was 
the one fiower of the wretched fiock to whom Aunt 
Boxy had come as a ministering angel on that miser- 
able Hovember night when baby’s soul had fluttered 
away into that mysterious silence we call death. 
Birdie was the one redeeming feature of the whole 
unhappy remembrance. Therefore, at first sight of 
the fair little face which she had never forgotten. 
Honor’s whole generous soul had gone out toward 
her. Knowing Mrs. Leroy and Maud, as she had 
learned to know them in the weeks which she had 
spent with them, it was certainly not a very agree- 
able thought that this pure, unselfish little life was to 


Eoyalized. 


U4: 

spend itself in ministering to their caprices. Surely 
Birdie was deserving of a better fate than this. She 
was strongly tempted to put out her hand and 
thrust her back from off the very threshold of this 
new existence. She had not the slightest conception 
of what it involved. Mrs. Leroy take in a little 
street waif and educate her as a lady, indeed ! The 
very suggestion called for a smile. No, at. the ut- 
most, all Birdie Gilmore could possibly expect, if she 
stayed here, was to be decently clothed, fed, and 
tolerated. What was it better than the miserable 
existence from which she had come ? There, at least, 
she was loved and respected, and if she grew up in 
ignorance she would grow up doubly so here. Was 
it not mistaken kindness to let her think otherwise ? 
And yet, after all, the child needed fresh air as much 
as any thing. That, at least, she would get here, in 
bounteous measure ; pure air and substantial food. 
Perhaps that was what she needed most just now, 
and for the rest — God could take care of that. The 
life was more than meat, and the body than raiment. 
He was abundantly able to provide all that was need- 
ful for this young life. It was better not to interfere 
with his plans. If it was his purpose to turn this 
soul into a channel which Honor Leroy’s eyes could 
not penetrate, what was that to her? He knew. 
She closed her lips, therefore, upon the words which 
had almost escaped them. She would throw no stone 
in the way. 

Mrs. Leroy, meanwhile, having arisen and arrayed 
herself in fine linen, had joined her summer guests 
upon the .piazza, and was sending sundry anxious 
glances into the thick foliage through which Birdie 


In the Gloaming. 


145 


had disappeared with her note. What if she did not 
return after all ? A sudden and unaccountable desire 
after this child had taken possession of Mrs. Leroy. 
The secret of it lay in Birdie’s striking resemblance 
to her lost sister. True, she had experienced, now 
and then, something like a twinge of conscience con- 
cerning her sister’s children, but had this child been 
like Hugh Gilmore she would have thrust her away 
in disgust. She did not realize this in the least. She 
thought she was acting from purely disinterested mo- 
tives and a sterling sense of duty, in her suddenly 
formed resolution to accept her sister’s young daugh- 
ter ; but Mrs. Leroy had not yet arrived at that state 
of self-abnegation. It would take long, hard years of 
discipline to mold her into an unselfish woman. It 
was clearly Birdie’s face that had won. It was the 
one face, of all the vanished circle, which daily, more 
and more as she grew older, Mrs. Leroy longed to see 
restored to her fireside. Only that veiy morning, 
lying in her darkened room, she had calculated what 
an immense price she would be willing to pay for a 
picture of Kosalie as she had been in the heyday of 
her youth ; hence the sudden and unlooked-for ap- 
pearance of this girl in her room at the sunset hour 
was like the answering of an unspoken prayer. It 
was Rosalie; not on canvas, but Rosalie — a living, 
breathing image. Thus it was that every moment 
of this, delay was increasing the value of her new 
possession. Suppose Hugh Gilmore had taken ex- 
ceptions to the tenor of her reply, and decreed to 
take liis child back again ?, Or, suppose Birdie her- 
self had refused to return? The man had no gov- 
ei-ninent over his children, of course, and, moreover, 
10 


146 


Eoyalized. 


he was shamefully weak. Perhaps at the last mo- 
ment he had yielded the point, and gone off with this 
treasure which was assuming such inestimable value 
in Mrs. Leroy’s heart. What if she should never see 
the girl again ? The great city could swallow her up 
as it would a dew-drop. Once lost it would be hard 
to get on the track of her again. Unable, at length, 
to sit and wait in silence any longer, Mrs. Leroy arose 
and crossed over to where her husband lounged in the 
hammock discussing idle nothings with a bevy of 
young ladies, of whom Maud was the center. 

‘‘ Reginald, if I may trespass upon your time for a 
few moments, I would like you to take a little stroll 
with me just to the gate and back.” 

Mr. Leroy sprang up with alacrity. 

“ Certainly, my dear. It is a pleasure to know you 
are able to take even so short a ramble. By the w^ay, 
what did that pretty child want with you ? I hope 
I did not offend in sending her in. She was such a 
flower of a girl, I thought it was only sending you a 
bunch of violets or daisies, or something equally re- 
freshing.” 

‘‘ It was,” said the lady emphatically ; and when 
they had passed beyond the hearing of the others she 
continued, ‘‘ Reginald, do you know who that child 
is?” 

“1^0. I never saw her before. No common child, 
I should judge.” 

“ Common ! I think not. Reginald,, her mother 
was my own sister. Be still ; don’t interrupt me ! 
You have heard me speal^ of my sister, I think. Her 
marriage was unfortunate, but, for all that, she was 
very lovely, Reginald. This child is wonderfully 


In the Gloaming. 


147 


like her — so like that I cannot find it in ray heart ever 
to part with her again. Of course, you will have no 
objections to ray adopting her.” 

Mr. Leroy was staring at his wife in amazement. 
Truly, this was a new departure. 

“ My dear, are you quite sure that you know what 
you are talking about ? ” he asked doubtfully. 

‘‘ Quite sure, Reginald. You can’t think what a 
thrill went through and through me this evening 
wlien I raised my eyes to behold this young girl stand- 
ing at my side. It was like a spirit, not from the 
dead, but from the past. It was Rosalie, as a girl, 
to the very life. It is just that striking resemblance 
which emboldened Hugh Gilmore to bring her to 
me.” 

“ Her father ! Did he bring her ? ” 

He brought her to the place, and sent her in with 
a letter of introduction. It was a diplomatic stroke. 
He knew I could never resist that face. Where can 
the girl be, Reginald ? I sent her to her father with 
a note in reply to his, and she has not returned. 
Could it possibly have entered his drunken brain to 
take exceptions to what I wrote ? ” 

“ What did you write ? ” 

Why, simply that I would receive the girl on 
condition of his renouncing all right and title to her 
from the hour she entered my doors, and not only 
himself,' but every one belonging to him. That stip- 
ulation I have made and shall abide by. If I under- 
take the charge of this child her connection with the 
rest of the family must cease at once. I thought best 
to let him understand that. It was fair and square 
enough, was it not ? ” 


148 


Koyalized. 


“ That depends upon the dispositions of the rest of 
the family,- ’ said her husband drily ; “ if they are will- 
ing to accept such a proposal. It may seem to them 
fair and it may not. The Le Grand blood is a trifle 
proud, Mildred, and it might occur that the otlier 
children have souls as well as this one, in which case, 
according to the unfortunate law of heredity, it is 
quite possible that the Le Grand sensitiveness may 
have got slightly mixed up in their composition.” 

“ It has not. I’ll guarantee. That boy whom I had 
the misfortune of meeting was simply a barbarian. 
Children of such a father are not suppose^ to be civ- 
ilized. This one is a rare exception, no doubt. He 
would not have dared to present her to my notice had 
she been otherwise. Hugh Gilmore knows me well 
enough for that.” 

“ So you really decide to take the full responsibility 
of this one, and wash your hands of the rest ? ” 

“Why, yes. What more or less can I do? There 
may be a dozen of them, for aught I know. I can- 
not undertake the whole lot, and if I save one it 
ought to satisfy.” 

“You propose, then, to give this girl her proper 
position in your household? You will acknowledge 
the relationship at once ? ” 

“ Yes, I suppose so. Why should I not ? ” 

“ For no reason that I know of, if you are sufficient 
to the responsibility. Has it occurred to you to i*e- 
flect how your father will accept this new tie ? ” 

“ Why, no. To tell the truth, I never thought of 
him. Perhaps, upon the whole, it would be better 
policy to keep the child’s parentage a secret for the 
present.” 


In the Gloaming. 


149 


“ He may suspect it, though.” 

“ Hardly. He is not in the habit of noticing chil- 
dren. I can easily keep all knowledge of her antece- 
dents from him.” 

‘^Are you sure of that? Mildred, in your diplo- 
matic zeal you have entirely lost sight of the fact that 
the girl herself is something more than a mere bit 
of flesh and blood. Do you imagine that, in this en- 
lightened age, a free-born American child can grow 
to the age of twelve wholly ignorant of the source 
from whence it sprang ? ” 

“ I don’t know, I’m surp ; but I do know that this 
girl, an hour ago, had not the slightest idea that she 
was entering the home of her ancestors. When she 
came in here to-night she came as an utter stranger.” 

“ Possibly ; but I have known children bred in the 
streets to be somewhat keen of wit, and this one did 
not look at all deflcient in that respect. Ignorance, 
no doubt, served her turn upon the occasion of her 
flrst debut, and, granting her to be ignorant now, 
she is not likely long to remain so. Once let the 
name of Le Grand come to her ears and the skein 
will unwind rapidly.” 

“ Pshaw ! there are other Le Grands in tlie world. 
I suppose she is sharp enough to know that too. At 
all events, I must not permit father to suspect the 
truth at present. He would not receive it favorably, 
and I am determined to have Birdie.” 

“ What is her other name ? ” 

“ Gilmore.” 

“ Your father, probably, remembers the name of 
his daughter’s husband.” 

“ O well, don’t put lions in the way. It will all 


150 


HOYALTZED. 


come out right, no doubt. People are usually favored 
in their attempts to do their duty. I must manage 
the thing some way. I shall have time enough to 
think during father’s absence, which may extend over 
a month or two. Do you see any thing like a blue 
dress anywhere, Reginald ? It is growing dusky 
under the trees. Could the man have taken her back 
to the city again ? ” 

“ Probably not. I think I see something decidedly 
blue over there on the rustic seat yonder, witli some- 
thing white very close to it. Why, really. Honor is 
making the acquaintance of. your jprotegee quite read- 
ily. Look, my dear: one would take them for old 
friends ! ” 

Certainly one would, for Honor’s arm was around 
Birdie, and her hand was stroking the soft curls, 
wliile Birdie leaned in Honor’s lap with her shining 
eyes looking confidently into the gray ones above. 

Mrs. Leroy glanced at the tableau, and crossed over 
to them, well pleased. 

“ Birdie makes friends readily,” she said, looking 
fondly down into the lovely little upturned face. 
“ Where have you been so long, little one ? Didn’t 
you know I was waiting for you ? ” 

Birdie sprang up startled. 

“ O, I forgot to come in ! It was seeing Honor, I 
suppose, put every thing else out of my head.” * 

‘‘ And where did you and Honor meet before ? ” 

“ O, it was in Massachuseets, ever and ever so long 
ago ; but she knew me right away. Wasn’t it 
funny ? ” 

“ Hot so very, my dear ; you are not easily forgot- 
ten,” and then she clasped Birdie’s hand fondly in her 


In the Gloaming. 


151 


own and led the way to the house, leaving Honor, 
mute with surprise, to follow with her father. 

Upon the piazza, in the faint, soft glow of the lan- 
terns, Mrs. Leroy did a very singular thing. Still 
keeping Birdie Gilmore’s hand clasped firmly in her 
own, she advanced to the very midst of her circle of 
guests, and, turning to them with a pleased smile, said 
in clear, decided tones : 

Ladies and gentlemen, I wish to present to you 
this young girl, my adopted daughter. Birdie — 
Leroy.” 


152 


lioYALIZED. 




XI. 

UNDER CITY LIGHTS. 

“He who commands himself is more a prince 
Thau he who nations keeps in awe.” 

And Grand came home promptly at six, to find the 
little fourth-story room dark and close and still. 
This sort of a reception was so different from the one 
he had anticipated that he was disappointed, and a 
trifle vexed, as' he rolled up the shades. Birdie’s 
love-liglited face was usually the first thing he saw 
when he opened the creaky old door at evening, 
and to miss it now, of all times, was a sore grievance. 
Whew! how stifling the room was! Even the very 
air which crept sluggishly in at the small windows 
was thick and oppressive, and Grand was very weary ; 
moreover, he was vaguely oppressed with a sense of 
comino^ clouds. It was one of those seasons which 
came rarely to this strong boy, when he was in sore 
need of a loving smile and a word of cheer. Every 
thing had gone wrong in the brick-yards that after- 
noon, and once, in reply to a severe reproof from the 
head workman, he had entirely forgotten that he was 
only the son of a poor drunken outcast from society, 
and blazed forth a word or two of such ungoverned 
irritability that it had well-nigh cost him his situa- 
tion, and to lose his situation now meant starvation ; 
nothing more or less. Work was not to be had for 


Under City Lights. 


153 


tlie asking in tliese days, and boys like Grand Gil- 
more must place a strong rein on tongue and temper 
— must forget, if possible, that they had even the 
right to plead the weakness and frailties of a human 
nature. 

“ If I had only been born a living, breathing ma- 
chine,” quoth Grand, laying his head upon the win- 
dow-sill and fairly gasping for air. 

Creatures without sensibility, without refinement, 
without the capability even of outward annoyance 
and irritation — that was what the working popula- 
tion of the city ought to be, he thought, bitterly ; that 
or nothing. Well, he might accomplish it in time. 
Years and years of hard struggle with himself might 
give him the mastery. It was very difficult now to 
get that firm grip upon this young, bounding nature 
which chafed so sorely under the grinding hand of 
poverty and restraint. But in time, in time ! One 
thinff Grand Gilmore was resolved — his human nature 

O 

should not overcome his higher one. If there had 
been no one to bear the consequences but himself he 
might have faltered. It would be pleasanter, he 
often thought, to drop back again into the old vagrant 
life of the streets, living from hand to mouth, lodg- 
ing in an ash-barrel or under somebody’s back steps. 
This sort of an existence had at least a sense of free- 
dom in it which bore its own stimulant. It was very 
hard for a nature like Grand Gilmore’s to submit to 
any authority save that of his own wild will. His 
was a nature essentially proud — honestly proud, too. 
There was no vainglorying about it. Grand had 
too thorough an acquaintance with himself for that. 
He knew all his weakness and ignorance and unwor- 


154 


Royalized. 


tliiness, and felt them with tlie humility with whicli 
only great natures can feel these things. His pride 
was a part of himself, something which he strove 
with all his might to subdue, but something which 
might keep its seat in his heart just as long as his 
heart continued its beating ; he might discipline it 
now thoroughly, but he could extinguish it never. It 
must not, therefore, thwart his plans for a useful life. 
On that point he was fully decided, and Grand had a 
powerful will. What he determined to do he usually 
did ; but this was a matter which would require time ; 
weeks, months, years, perhaps, must elapse before he 
gained the mastery, and he needed it so much jhst 
now ! 

He arose with a sigh, and, going to an old box in 
the corner, took out his books. He had something of 
a library in that old box. There were histories and 
encyclopedias,- Latin and Greek text-books, mathe- 
matical works, books of science and art, several ro- 
mances by standard authors, and some gems of poetry 
and song. This well assorted library had been one 
of the most powerful means of this boy’s salvation. 
It was the bequest of a wdse mother, who, finding all 
else slipping out of her grasp, had from the wreck 
saved this much of good for her children. 

‘^Hever part with your books. Grand,” had been 
one of her last injunctions to her son, when, all un- 
known to herself, her feet were slipping over the 
brink of life ; and Grand looked 4ipon that behest as 
a most sacred one. In all the days of want and 
struggle which followed he never, even for an in- 
stant, thought of sacrificing those precious books. 
Every thing else might go, to the very coat from off 


Under City Lights. 


155 


liis back, but this one treasure must be kept inviolate. 
No one of the household dared suggest the pro- 
priety of laying so much as a finger upon it. Even 
the miserable father, in the depths of his degradation, 
had not cast his eyes toward the books. They were 
Grand’s, all Grand’s, and Grand treasured them as a 
miser does his gold. They were, indeed, a mine of 
w’ealth to the eager-souled boy, those books. He was 
gaining stores of knowledge whicli but for them he 
could in no maimer hope to obtain. Strangely 
enough. Grand had aspirations far beyond those of 
the ordinary boy. It might not have been so had 
his early life been more propitious. Human nature 
is strangely contrary, always prone to crave most that 
which is out of its reach. Had Grand Gilmore been 
born in a sphere where advantages of education 
poured in upon him in silver streams, he would have 
found it easy to slight them, perhaps, but having been 
placed where they came to him only through hard 
striving and infinite longing, they were as grains of 
fine gold. 

It has been said, ‘‘There is no self-made man,” but 
singularly enough, the circumstances which develop 
men are usually those of a most adverse character. 
This boy, struggling with every possible hardship, 
discouragement, and defeat, was still gaining an educa- 
tion, not that he was in any way conscious of the fact. 
He would have treated it as an idle joke had any one 
suggested the truth to him ; but, all the same, he was 
day by day laying the foundation of the grandest pos- 
sible attainments. 

The education of the head, together with the edu- 
cation of the heart, the firm grip of the higher nature 


156 


Royalized. 


upon the lower, these were the accomplishments 
which bid fair to make Grand Gilmore’s life a success. 
Had he realized what a character he was upbuilding 
day by day in this slow, sure manner, his very ^oul 
within him must have rejoiced and been exceed- 
ing glad. But he had not the smallest conception of 
it. In his own eyes he was just a struggling, over- 
taxed, ignorant, helpless boy. In the eyes of the 
great Heart-searcher he was growing into the stature 
of a prince. 

He took out his books to-night with very little 
zeal. It was only mere force of habit which induced 
him to take them at all in these disheartened mo- 
ments. Grand could not tolerate an idle moment. 
Above all things he could not tolerate brooding. 
Birdie would come in a very little while, no doubt ; 
but even that little while must be employed. 

And then Grand forgot his wearisome day, forgot 
the heat and the dust and the stifling air, forgot that 
it was growing late, and that Birdie had not come. 

That which called him back to the realization of 
these things was the sound of noisy footsteps on the 
stairs. The door was jerked open, and Belle put in a 
peevish face. 

“Why, what’s the matter with every body? 
Where’s Birdie ? Have you had supper, and cleared 
it all away ? ” 

Grand read over the last paragraph a little more 
carefully, and stowed it away in the recesses of his flne 
memory before he closed his book and raised his eyes 
to his sister’s. 

“ Birdie ? ” he said gravely ; “ hasn’t she been with 
you ? ” 


Under City Lights. 


157 


“]^o, why should she? She never goes with me. 
You know that, Grand.’' 

‘‘Where is she, then? ” 

“ I don’t know. In Mrs. Blake’s room, probably.” 

“k7o, she would have heard me come in. Where 
did you leave her ? ” 

“Here.” 

“ Alone ? ” 

“ Yes — or no, father was here ; may be she’s been 
afraid of him and gone off somewhere. You’re sure 
to find her down-stairs. Go and see. Grand. I’m 
awfully tired, and hungry as a wolf.” 

Grand ran down stairs, and burst in upon Mrs. 
Blake with very little ceremony. The good woman 
^ was not altogether pleased with the manner of his 
entrance. It was very unlike his usual quiet cour- 
teousness. JSTo, she had not seen Birdie since noon. 
She had wondered at not hearing her sing. It had 
been a long, lonesome afternoon, without the sound 
of the pretty voice to liven things up a bit. 

Grand went out quietly enough. It was just half 
past seven by Mrs. Blake’s little eight-day clock. He 
returned to Belle with a very thoughtful face. 

To wait and to watch for Birdie was a new ex- 
perience, and he scarcely knew how to undertake it. 

Belle, with scowling brows, was cutting bread and 
setting on the cold potatoes. 

“ It’s very queer,” she said ; “ don’t Mrs. Blake 
know where she is ? ” 

“ Ho.” 

“ Hasn’t she seen her ? ” 

“Ho.” 

“Well, you needn’t be so crusty, Grand Gilmore. 


158 


Koyalized. 


You’re the most disagreeable boy when any thing 
goes cross-ways wdth you ! Sit down here and eat 
your supper, and then may be you’ll be able to speak 
civilly.” 

Grand obeyed, swallowing the food eagerly. He 
had not imagined how hungry he was. He did not 
speak until the meal was finished. When he arose 
from the table he seized his hat. 

I am going to look for Birdie,” he said hurriedly. 
“ When I find her I’ll be back, not before.” 

“ O, you’ll find her fast enough, the little trollop. 
The idea of her giving us such a scare as this ! I’ll 
go with you. Grand.” 

“ Ho, you wont. Stay where you are. There’s no 
telling how far I shall go. I’ll hunt the city over 
but what I’ll find her. If I don’t get back till late, 
you’d better stay with Mrs.. Blake. Don’t go out. 
Belle ; promise me you wont. ’ 

‘‘ I sha’n’t make any promises. What a prig you’re 
getting to be. Grand ! I guess I’m not accountable 
to you for my comings and goings. One would take 
you for my great-grandfather.” 

“ Promise me,” repeated Grand, catching her wrist 
and holding it fast, ‘‘ promise me that you will stay 
here till I come.” 

“Let me go!*” cried Belle, stamping her foot and 
trying fiercely to wrench herself out of his grasp ; but 
it was impossible to do so. The strong boyish han^d 
was like a vise. 

“ Hot until you promise ! ” he said firmly. “Belle, 
I can’t stand much more worry just now. Prom- 
ise ! ” 

“ Yes, then, you old bear. How go along.” 


Under City Lights. 


159 


She regretted tlie promise before the sound of his 
footsteps had fairly died away, but, having made it, she 
knew she would keep it. Idle, unamiable, and friv- 
olous as Belle was, she was strictly truthful. She 
would not deceive even to the extent of slipping out 
into the miserable little alley for a breath of the even- 
ing air. Here she must stay, then, if hours elapsed 
before her brother’s return. Here she must stay, 
even if she stayed alone all night long. At this sug- 
gestion of her imagination Belle’s blue eyes dilated 
with horror. Stay alone all night ! Ho, that she 
would not, if she slept on the side-walk. But, non- 
sense ! he would be back in ten minutes, perhaps? 
with that runaway Birdie safe under his protecting 
wing ; and thus consoling herself. Belle laid her head 
upon her arm, and in a few moments was sound 
asleep. 

The hours flew away after that. A clock some- 
where was striking twelve when the sound of some 
one stirring near her started Belle awake. 

She drew herself up, rubbing her eyes in a dazed, 
frightened way. The room was very dark, and some 
one was fumbling about heavily and uncertainly. 
Where was she? She felt strangely stiff and uncom- 
fortable, as if she had been sleeping in some cramped, 
unnatural position. 

Who’s there ? ” she cried out, her voice sharp 
with terror. There was no answer, only the heavy 
tread sounding very near her in the darkness. 

Is it you. Grand ? ” she gasped fearfully. 

“ Ho, it is not Grand,” some one said kindly, and 
to her intense relief she recognized her father’s voice. 
For the first time in her life it was music in her ears. 


, 160 Royalized. 

I 

She hastened to strike a liglit, that she might assure 
herself. 

“ Have Grand and Birdie come ? ” she asked, look- 
ing at him curiously as the lamp’s smoky rays fell full 
upon his face. 

‘‘Why, I don’t know. How should I? I have 
not been in since noon.” 

“ And you haven’t seen them ? ” 

“ No, no, child. Don’t bother me about it ! ” 

He spoke irritably, but Belle cared nothing for that. 
She was too thoroughly alarmed to measure her words 
now. 

“ Do you know Birdie is lost ! ” she cried, darting 
forward and seizing his arm. 

He pushed her away roughly. 

“ Nonsense ! Don’t make a goose of yourself ! 
What do you mean? You’ve been dreaming, that’s 
all.” 

“ I haven’t, either. Grand went to look for Birdie 
three or four hours ago. If he has not come back he 
hasn’t found her.” 

She covered her face with her hands and began to 
sob, as was her habit under circumstances of excite- 
ment and alarm. 

Her father regarded her with no small degree of 
impatience. He was not prepared for a manifestation 
of this kind from thoughtless, giddy Belle. He was 
at a loss to know how to meet it. 

“ I wouldn’t make such an ado about nothing,” he 
said at length, somewhat helplessly, thrusting his 
hands in his pockets and beginning to pace the floor. 

“ About nothing ! ” screamed Belle, with a loud, 
angry sob. “ Is it nothing to have Birdie lost ? May 


IjNDEii City Lights. 


161 


be you’ll know if you never see her again. I s’pose 
she might wander all night in the streets for all your 
stirring yourself to hunt her up ; but I’ll not stay 
here and wait any longer. I’ll go myself.” 

She darted impulsively toward the door, but a 
heavy hand laid suddenly upon her shoulder held her 
back. 

“ What a silly girl you are, Belle,” said her father, 
locking the door and placing tlie key in his pocket. 
“ If the child is lost Grand can find her better than 
any one else. What could you or I do in the streets 
of Hew York ? As well look for a rose-leaf in a rub- 
bish heap. Honsense ! Go to bed, child, and trust 
to luck.” 

“ I’ll trust to nothing while I have hands and feet 
to v^ork with. Hark ! there’s some one coming. It 
must be Grand this time. Open the door, quick ! ” 

Grand’s ^face, as he came into the light, was white 
and haggard. He seemed to have aged years since 
sunset. 

‘‘ And you haven’t brought her ! ” cried Belle, a 
ring of keen disappointment in her voice. 

“ Ho ; I’ve been half over the city. Ho one has 
seen her, no one has heard. O father, father 1 what 
shall we do ? ” He broke off with a sort of groan, 
and bowed his head upon his hands. 

The father looked down at him gravely. Belle’s 
noisy lamentations had irritated him, but the still pain 
in the face of his son touched his heart. And there 
was nothing he could do. To say that the child was 
safe would be to reveal the whole transaction of the 
afternoon, and that he had no intention of doing. 
But if he kept silence Grand must suffer, and in 
11 


162 


Royalized. 


spite of himself, in spite of the demon which con- 
trolled him, this man loved his cliildren. 

‘‘ Well, my boy, I wouldn’t worry,” he said uneasi- 
ly. “ Nothing very serious could happen to a girl of 
that age and no one know it. She will be back by 
morning, most likely. If she is not we wdll begin 
investigations, but we can do nothing to-night. May 
be she’s staying with some of her little friends some- 
where.” 

“ I’d like to know what friends Birdie Gilmore has 
in New York,” put in Belle sarcastically. 

O, she may have picked up some that you know 
nothing about. Children make acquaintances easily.” 

“ Birdie don’t. I never knew her to speak to a 
stranger, and she never goes anywhere. You know 
that, father.” 

‘‘ O, well, children take strange freaks. She might 
have got playing somewhere and lost her way home. 
’Most any body would take her in for the night, and 
if not she knows enough to appeal to a policeman. 
No doubt she is sleeping peacefully somewhere. . Any 
way, it’s time enough to worry in the morning.” 

Grand raised his head and darted a sudden, sharp 
glance at his father’s face. Was it possible that he 
could know any thing about it ? If he was so igno- 
rant as he seemed how was it possible for him to be 
so utterly undisturbed while there was a chance of 
Birdie’s wandering all night in the city streets ? 
Grand knew his father better than any one else did. 
He was aware that, away down in his heart of hearts, 
he had a refined and deeply sensitive nature, which 
even his profligate life had not been able wholly to 
eradicate. Just at this moment the man was perfectly 


Under City Lights. 


163 


sober. Such might not be the case again in many 
days. Grand got up and confronted him with stern 
eyes. 

“ Where did you see Birdie last ? ” he asked sharply. 

The man’s eyes drooped involuntarily. They could 
not meet this sort of a look. Even if he had been 
innocent it must have overcome him. The boy had 
eyes like his grandfather. For a con\dcted soul to 
stand in their flashing light was impossible. 

The man absolutely could not lie ; for the life of 
him no false statement would come. The most he 
could attempt was a prevarication. 

Why, I saw her at noon. I have not been in 
since,” he faltered. 

“ Where have you been since noon ?” 

“ I’ve been out of town on business.” 

“ Business ! ” Grand’s lips curled involuntarily. 
“ What business could you possibly have that would 
take you away from the city ? ” 

The father’s eyes shone resentfully. 

‘‘ I don’t know that I am accountable to a boy of 
your age for my actions. You are growing dictato- 
rial, Grand.” 

“ But you must tell me ! ” cried the boy, forgetting 
every thing in the intensity of his anxiety, forgetting 
that the man with whom he had to deal had well-nigh 
lost the power to do a manly deed. “ This uncertainty 
is more than I can bear. It’s more than I will bear. 
If you’ve got a soul, speak out I ” 

Hugh Gilmore was very angry. 

You insolent young scoundrel ! ” he cried, seiz- 
ing Grand and shaking him with all his might. The 
boy stood his ground manfully. 


16i 


Koyalized. 


t 

‘‘ Father, if you know any thing about Birdie I 
beseech you to tell me,” he cried. 

The only reply he received was a furious oath, and 
in another instant the door had banged behind the 
angry man, and Grand was left to his own distracting 
fears. 


Thickek than Water. 


165 


XII. 

THICKER THAN WATER. 

“ Happiness is a perfume that one cannot shed over another with- 
out a few drops falling on one’s self.” 

Maud followed her mother to her room that night 
with the air of an injured princess. If Birdie, sleep- 
ing soundly in her little white bed, could have seen 
the expression upon her cousin’s face as she con- 
fronted her mother at that moment her dreams 
would not have been so pleasant as they were. 

Mrs. Leroy, saw it, and turned about with a sigh. 
Maud was the stumbling-block which was to stand 
sadly in the way of progress concerning Birdie’s wel- 
fare. Of course Maud would not favor her good in- 
tentions. Why should she? It was only natural 
that she should resent another addition to the already 
unnecessarily supplemented household. Mrs. Leroy 
was prepared to receive scowling looks and bitter 
words from her daughter, but she was not prepared 
for the storm of wrath which she saw about to burst 
upon her. 

“ Keally, mamma,” began the young lady, cutting 
her words scornfully, “ I did not think you were quite 
a fool ! ” 

Mrs. Leroy did not reply to this. She was aware . 
that in the eyes of all her own little narrow world 
she must seem little less than a fool. Indeed, her 


1G6 


Koyalized. 


own judgment gave in a like verdict, and still 
through it all she was conscious of a higher sort of 
happiness than any she had known before in long 
years. It was the first time in her life that this 
woman remembered to have taken a bold step for 
conscience’ sake. The satisfaction of the thing was 
a new and delightful experience. She could not 
regret the act which had brought her such peace as 
this, no, not even while she stood, as now, fairly 
quaking under the baleful shine of her daughter’s 
eyes. 

“ But I am fully convinced of it now,” went on 
Maud, her face growing whiter as the unreined pas- 
sion got the mastery of her. “I know now, with- 
out a doubt, that you are either a fool or crazy, or 
both.” 

Mrs. Leroy lifted her hand warningly. It would 
not do, even for Maud, to provoke her too far ; but 
the injured maiden deigned not so much as to notice 
the movement. 

“ If it is your intention to found a home for wan- 
dering street girls,” she pursued, advancing a step 
and emphasizing her words by a stamp of, her foot, 
“ or to set up a foundling hospital, or any tiling of 
that sort, I w^ould advise your going into the specu- 
lation upon a more economical basis. It is something 
of an expensive luxury to adopt these stray waifs out 
and out ; and besides, there are other persons con- 
nected with you who, unfortunately, are not blest 
with an equally disinterested spirit. There are other 
members of your family to be consulted in an ar- 
rangement of this kind. It may not have occurred 
to you that your children may not find it wholly 


Thicker than Water. 167 

agreeable to have their home turned into a charity 
school.” 

“ Do you know who you are talking to, Maud ? ” 
asked her mother deprecatingly. 

“ Yes,” blazed the girl fiercely, “ I know I am talk- 
ing to a woman who is capable of forgetting herself 
and her children, forgetting even the instincts of 
common decency and descending to the level of city 
tramps. Yes, I know who I am talking to ! ” 

Mrs. Leroy’s patience had reached its utmost limits. 
She felt herself growing white. 

“ But you do not know who you are talking 
about ! ” she exclaimed in a sort of savage triumph. 
“ Explain wliat you mean by city tramps, if you 
please. You certainly do not intend to apply the 
term to my adopted child.” 

“Your adopted child is in the singular. The 
plural is formed by the addition of that wretch who 
brought her here, upon whom I had the nfisfortune 
to stumble when I drove in this evening with Mr. 
Hartley. I was really ashamed to have such a creat- 
ure seen on the premises, and he was actually holding 
this adopted child of yours in his arms, and she was 
clinging to him for dear life. Ugh ! Horrible ! 
And this is the elegant young lady whom rny mother 
introduces in refined circles as her adopted daughter, 
Birdie Leroy. Surely Papa Leroy must be blest 
with a good nature and a long-suffering one.” 

Mrs. Leroy’s eyes blazed as wrathfully as Maud’s 
now. She forgot even caution at that moment. 

“ Do you know who Birdie Leroy is ? ” she asked 
in a suppressed voice. 

“ I know she is the daughter of the vilest drunken 


168 Royalized. 

rowdy that walks the earth. I heard her call that 
man father.” 

you know any thing about her mother ? ” 
and I certainly have no desire to know any 

thing.” 

“ But you shall know something nevertheless. 
Her mother and yours, Miss Whitney, were sisters. 
Birdie Leroy is your own cousin. How I hope you 
understand what you are talking about.” 

Maud’s white hand clenched the back of her 
mother’s chair spasmodically. 

“You cannot mean such a thing,” she cried, bend- 
ing to look closer into the excited face. “You are 
speaking figuratively, trying to frighten me. Such 
a thing cannot be ! ” 

“ Such a thing can be, though, and such a thing is. 
Tlie man you saw at the gate is no other than your 
Aunt Rosalie’s husband. He is all that you have de- 
scribed him, a drunken rowdy ; nevertheless, his wife 
was Rosalie Le Grand, and his children have just as 
good a right here, strictly speaking, as mine have. 
Hereafter, Maud, I advise you to refrain from strong 
language, especially when you are defaming your own 
flesh and blood.” 

“ If this is true,” said Maud, “ why did you not say 
so to the people out there to-night ? It would have 
been far more sensible in every way to have pre- 
sented the girl as your niece, even if her clothes were 
not quite the thing. They knew nothing about the 
man at the gate. The whole business is perfectly 
ridiculous ! ” 

“ I have good reasons for my acts, usually,” said 
Mrs. Leroy coldly. “ If I choose to have her con- 


Thicker than Water. 169 

sidered my adopted child, that is no concern of other 
people.” 

“ Other people concern themselves, however. I 
overheard Mrs. Delong remarking to Mrs. Newbury 
upon the odd mixture of relationships in this family, 
consisting of own children, step-children, and adopted 
cliildren. If the girl is your niece, why not say so 
and have done with it ? But I don’t believe it. You 
have been shamefully imposed upon.” 

“ You may as well believe it, Maud ; there is not 
the shadow of a doubt. I did not intend to reveal 
the relationship to you at present, but you have made 
it impossible for me to keep silent. I wanted you to 
understand that when you trample Birdie Gilmore 
dowui you are setting your feet upon your own neck 
as well.” 

“I do not accept your statement concerning the 
relationship,” said Maud, tossing her head haughtily ; 
“ it is too humiliating, and you have only the testi- 
mony of that vile creature, who did not look as if he 
were capable of breathing an honest breath. Your 
fancy has been taken by the girl’s pretty face, and 
you have allowed yourself to fall into the trap of a 
vagabond. Perhaps you fancy there is a family re- 
semblance. It is possible there may be; the Le 
Grands are proverbially good-looking; but you recol- 
lections of your sister must be somewhat cloud};. 
You saw her last something like twenty years ago, I 
believe.” 

Mrs. Leroy did not reply to this. She had no de- 
sire to recall the incident of the railway station. 
She did not care to have her daughter know that 
she had met her only sister face to face, and been 


170 


Royalized. 


ashamed to acknowledge kinship with that royal 
creature simply because she wore a shabby dress. 

Besides,” went on Maud recklessly, “ I don’t see 
why you should interest yourself to this extent, even 
if the girl is related to you. Her relationship with 
that brute of a man is sufficient to annul any thing 
good which she might have inherited from another 
source. It is disgusting to contemplate ! ” 

Maud,” said her mother angrily, “ you will be so 
good as to hold your tongue. Every word you speak 
is an insult both to me and my dear lost sister.” 

“ Humph ! When did you become so sensitive upon 
the subject of your sister? I have not heard you 
speak in very affectionate terms of her before. In- 
deed, I have always been led to look upon that mys- 
tical Aunt Rosalie as a sort of reproach to the family 
name.” 

‘‘You have been led wholly by your imagination, 
then, for you have heard very little from me concern- 
ing her. I have always avoided speaking of her at 
all ; but now that she is gone I will tolerate nothing 
like disrespect to her memory. I wish you to dis- 
tinctly understand that ? ” 

Maud’s lips curled. 

“ How much easier it is to honor people after they 
are dead than while they are living! Well, setting 
all this aside, what do you propose to do with this 
protegee of yours — this white elephant? How are 
you going to hide her from grandfather? You know 
very well that he wdll tolerate no weakness of this 
kind. He has far too much self-respect to mix up his 
grand old blood with such as this.” 

“He has no choice in the matter. The blood is 


Thicker than Water. 171 

already pretty thoroughly mixed, and shows itself 
unmistakably in this instance.” 

“ But he will not acknowledge it, you know. He 
will be very angry, too, if I’m not mistaken.” 

Mrs. Leroy pressed her hands to her head wearily. 

“ I absolutely refuse to discuss the subject further 
to-night, Maud. All this turmoil and confusion is 
bringing back a return of my headache. I intend to 
have Birdie thoroughly educated and fitted for a po- 
sition of usefulness in life, whereby she can maintain 
herself respectably when she is old enough. I shall 
send her away to school just as soon as I can possibly 
make the necessary arrangements. In the meantime 
I will not have her shabbily treated by any member 
of my family. Now if you will leave my room I will 
be greatly obliged, as I wdsli to retire at once.” 

After that Maud had nothing to do but gather up 
her scattered forces and beat a retreat, which she did 
with an ill grace. On her way np-stairs she could 
not refrain from stepping for a moment inside the 
open door of a small room near her own where Birdie 
slept. The shaded light fell softly over the delicate 
little face. It was a lovely face. There was no de- 
nying that. The cheeks just now were like the petals 
of a damask rose, the eyelashes sweeping them were 
half an inch in length, and the thick hair tossed upon 
the white pillow shone like a mass of yellow-brown 
silk. Every thing about this face was refined. Even 
the ears were small and dainty as shells. After all, 
blood would tell ! There was nothing to be ashamed 
of in the tie between herself and this girl, Maud con- 
cluded, if only she could disconnect her from the 
recollection of that dreadful man who had held her 


172 


Eoyalized. 


in Ills arms. The very thought of that bloated, dis- 
figured face touching for an instant this one, so ex- 
quisitely fair and pure, w^as a sacrilege. Maud turned 
away in disgust. No, she could never get rid of the 
association. It must always come between her and 
tills young cousin like a cloud. 

And Birdie, the while, dreamed awa}’- delightfully, 
all unconscious of the stir which her advent was cre- 
ating in this home — all unconscious of the fact that 
she was sleeping for the first time under the very 
roof which had sheltered her mother’s happy child- 
hood — all unconscious, too, that the far-away city 
lights w^ere falling upon the weary face of a boy who 
hurried to and fro with eyes grown fairly blood-shot 
in their anxious search for a glimpse of her own 
golden head. All oblivious to these facts. Birdie 
slumbered peacefully on until the sun had climbed 
quite high in the blue sky of another day, and, chanc- 
ing to pass her window on his way toward the pansy 
bed, threw a great bar of gold straight across her 
eyelids. Then she came back to the realities of life 
witli a start. Instantly remembering where she was, 
she sprang to the window and looked out with wid- 
ening eyes. What a world it was that fiashed its 
I’osy, dewy young beauty back at the child accustomed 
to nothing more refreshing than brick walls and for- 
lorn tenement houses ! Every-where there was sparkle 
and bloom. Jocund day, standing tiptoe on the 
mountain tops, kissed his hand to sky and earth. 
Birds were fairl}^ screaming out their gladness. A 
thousand flowers loaded the balmy air with their fra- 
grant messages. 

Birdie looked just a moment ; then, remembering 


Thicker than Water. 


173 


that it might be later than she tliought, and that she 
must not keep any one waiting for her this first morn- 
ing, hastened to wash her face and brush her hair and 
get into the blue dress again. She frowned a little 
at the shabbiness of her boots. They had seemed well 
enough yesterday, but here, in contact with the neat, 
pretty carpet, they looked sadly worn. Birdie’s tastes 
were naturally dainty. Under the influences of these 
fair surroundings they began to assert themselves. 
She w’as conscious of her first twinge of wounded 
pride as she looked down at those shabby boots. It 
was really a trial to think of appearing down-stairs 
with such looking feet as these. But then there 
was no help for it, and when there was no help 
for a thing Birdie usually accepted it with a good 
grace. 

“ I’ll have to put my best foot forward,” she 
laughed ; and then the delightsomeness of the outer 
world caught her eyes again, and she leaned from the 
window, breaking involuntarily into her favorite song, 

JT/ * 

“ 0 world, thou art fair.” 

Three people standing together upon the piazza 
just below that window looked into each other’s eyes 
simultaneously, holding their breath with surprise. 

“ It is Birdie,” said Honor, recovering herself and 
breaking off a twig of honeysuckle to fasten in her 
bosom. “ Her voice is gaining power, I think. She 
did not sing like that at home.” 

Mrs. Leroy clasped her hands delightedly, as she 
exclaimed, 

“Is it possible the child has such a voice as this ? 
Why didn’t you tell mo before. Honor ! ” 


174 


Royalized. 


“ Why should she ? ” drawled Maud. “ It is not 
uncommon for children to sing, I believe.” 

‘‘ It is uncommon for them to have voices like 
angels ! ” said the lady enthusiastically. “ Now I 
know what to do with Birdie.” 

‘‘ Indeed ! Since when have you arrived at the so- 
lution of that difficult problem ? ” 

“ Since I heard her sing. I shall give her the best 
possible advantages of voice culture. She will shine 
some day.” 

“ Indeed ! I presume you will send her abroad to 
finish \ ” 

You may rest assured I will do all that is re- 
quired,” said her mother obstinately. “ I intend to 
perform my whole duty by the child.” 

Involuntarily Honor’s hands tightened their clasp 
about those which still held her own. It was the first 
spark of genuine nobility which she had witnessed in 
her father’s wife, and she caught at it eagerly. This 
nature might have its hidden capacities v/hich would 
develop late in the day. Honor was very glad for 
Birdie at that moment. Her gladness did not de- 
crease when, a little later, the girl came stepping out 
to them in her shy, graceful way, and was met by 
Mrs. Leroy and even Maud with glances of undis- 
guised admiration. Even the shabby boots could not 
make Birdie Gilmore any thing but lady-like. Mrs. 
Leroy held out her hand with a smile. 

“ You are very happy this morning, are you not, 
singing birdie that you are % ” 

“ Yes, very happy,” smiled Birdie, her eyes catch- 
ing the glory of the summer morning sky ; “ very, 
very happy.’’ 


Thicker than Watek. 


175 


“ And liow do you suppose Grand feels^ about it ?” 
Honor, asked involuntarily, regretting the words as 
soon as spoken. 

Birdie’s face clouded. She had forgotten for one 
instant all about the little attic room and Grand’s 
anxious face. Now they came rushing back upon her 
in full force. 

I don’t know,” she faltered. ‘‘ I’m afraid he’ll 
won*y after me.” 

“ Who is Grand ? ” asked Maud sharply. 

“ My brother.” 

“ How many brothers have you ? ” 

“ Two. Grand and Baby.” 

‘‘ Baby ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Leroy. “ There cannot 
be a baby ! ” 

“Up in heaven there is,” said Birdie, lifting her 
eyes reverently to the sky. 

“ O, you mean a baby brother who died. What an 
odd child you are ! Have you any sisters living ? ” 

“ One.” 

“ Only one ? Older than yourself, or younger ?” 

“ Older, ma’am. Belle is nearly nineteen.” 

Maud darted a significant glance at her mother. 

“ What sort of a girl is she, this Belle ? Does she 
look like you ? ” 

“ O no ; Belle is pretty.” 

“ Indeed ! What is she like ? Describe her,” went 
on Maud curiously. 

“ O, slie has light hair and blue eyes, and her skin 
is like that white fiower over yonder.” 

“ Wliat does she do with herself ? ” 

“ O nothing but read, and fix her dresses.” 

“ Nineteen, and idle as that ! ” cried Mrs. Leroy 


176 


Koyalized. 


involuntarily. “ Wliat in the world do you live on, 
child ? Who gave you the dress you have on ? ” 

“ Grand.” 

Maud was about to advance another question, but 
her mother interrupted her. She had had quite 
enough of this Grand. 

“We are forgetting that Birdie has had no breah- 
fast,” she said hurriedly. “ You are a little late, my 
dear, so you will have to eat alone this morning ; but 
you will not mind, I think.” 

ISTo, indeed, she would not. Birdie heaved a grate- 
ful sigh at the thought of what she was spared for 
once at least. 

Seated at the elegant table, with a shining array of 
silver and glass before her, she found her appetite 
wonderfully keen. She had been too excited last 
night to more than barely taste the dainty little sup- 
per which Mrs. Leroy had sent to her room. But 
the edge of the strangeness was wearing oft' now, and 
she was beginning to feel singularly at home in the 
midst of all this luxury. She buttered her roll and 
sipped her coffee from the ^delicate china cup with 
quiet complacency and a keen relish this morning, 
very much as if she had been reared to the daily use 
of silver and china and damask. Indeed, she half 
wondered if all her life hitherto had not been a bad 
dream, and this the waking up to a splendid reality. 
Surely there could be no dream about this. Every 
thing her hands touched and her eyes beheld was alto- 
gether tangible and charming. Mrs. Leroy watched 
her with approving eyes. It was evident that there 
would be little to correct in Birdie’s manners. It 
was truly marvelous how the child adapted herself. 


Thicker than Water. 


177 


“If jon please,” began Birdie modestly, as she 
folded her napkin and arose from the table, “ Mrs. — ” 
She stopped in confusion. How annoying that she 
could not reinembe]* her benefactress’s name ! 

“ Call me Aunt Mildred,” said the lady, stooping 
to kiss the blushing face. 

Birdie’s eyes opened wide. 

“ Why, I have an Aunt Mildred,” she said eagerly. 

“Indeed! Well, perhaps you can find room in 
your heart for another.” 

“ O, my real Aunt Mildred isn’t in my heart at 
all. I never even saw her.” 

“ Where is she ? ” 

“ I don’t know. Somewhere in the South, Belle 
says. .Grand never speaks of her because she wasn’t 
good to mamma. O, if you please, I’d like to write 
to Grand just a little letter, to tell him where I am.” 

Mrs. Leroy frowned. This Grand must be set 
aside at once. She would tolerate no association with 
’that coarse, rough street-boy. Birdie- must under- 
stand that. She half opened her lips to say so, but 
closed them again. That pure little face reflected a 
heart that was true as steel. If she would retain a 
girl of this character she must be very wary. 

“ Well, you may write to Grand,” she said quietly. 
“ You will find ink and paper in the library, across 
the ball.” 

“ Thank you, thank you. Aunt Mildred I ” said 
Birdie joyfully. 

Mrs. Leroy smiled softly at her own diplomacy and 
the child’s innocence. 

“ And when you have finished the letter bring it 
to me. I attend to the mails in the morning.” 

12 


178 


Royalized. 


XIII. 

VOICES GONE. 

“ The silver bells of charity, 

0 bells of greatest rarity ! ” 

“ Do you think he has forgotten me, Honor, or 
doesn’t he care ? ” asked Birdie wistfully. 

It was the sultriest of August afternoons, just four 
weeks since the day that badly spelled but eloquent 
little letter, directed in very awkward characters to 
Mr. Grand Gilmore, had been placed in the hands of 
Mrs. Leroy for the morning’s mail. “ Answer right 
away,” she had pleaded, shaping the letters of that 
important message wdth laborious care, so that he 
could not possibly mistake them, and lo ! four weeks 
had glided away, and Birdie’s trustful heart had 
grown very weary in the watch for a letter that never 
came. 

You would hardly recognize Birdie to-day as she 
stands under the shadow of the sweet honeysuckles 
in her white embroidered dress and bronze slippers, 
with rose-colored ribbons in her hair. It took so lit- 
tle to make this girl appear the proper thing, Mrs. 
Leroy experienced a sort of fond delight in arraying 
her becomingly. It was like the pleasure of giving 
the proper setting to a pearl. It was a pleasure 
wholly new to Mrs. Leroy, moreover. Maud, some- 
how, was a most unsatisfactory person to deal with in 


Voices Gone. 


179 


this respect. She never displayed well. The utmost 
taste and skill, the most lavish expenditure, could not 
make her look quite right. Her mother had suc- 
cumbed to that fact years ago. The richest apparel 
invariably looked cheap and ordinary on Maud. But 
with Birdie, on the other hand, it required the sliglit- 
est change to make her simply elegant. Mrs. Leroy 
rejoiced over this fact daily. She had something to 
be proud of at last. 

Honor raised her eyes from her canvas a little 
abstractedly as Birdie's plaintive question smote her 
ear. 

“ Are you talking about Grand ? ” she asked, 
dropping her brush and turning lier head upon 
one side to study with a critic’s eye the picture 
which grew so slowly beneath her skillful fingers. 

You think too much about that boy, I’m 
afraid.” 

Birdie turned away flushing sensitively. Truly 
there was no one to help. Every body mocked at 
her anxiety. No one had the slightest sympathy with 
her concerning Grand. It was hard to bear. Honor, 
at least, might take a bit of interest in the matter. 
Was a human being of less account than a bit of 
painted canvas ? And yet Honor spent hours and 
hours of thought upon her picture. O, they were all 
alike in selfishness ! So long as they were clothed 
and fed what did it matter if Grand Gilmore per- 
ished with hunger ? 

“ O, I want to see him so ! ” cried Birdie, with a 
rush of sudden tears. 

Honor wheeled about at this, forgetting for tlie 
moment all about lights and shades. 


ISO 


Royalized. 


“ Is it possible joii are homesick, child ? ” she 
asked. 

“ 1 don’t know what homesick is,” said the girl 
quietly. “ I’d be all right if I only knew that Grand 
wasn’t angry with me for staying here.” 

‘‘Well, I wouldn’t worry about that. Of course 
he isn’t angry. He’s a boy of sense ; he knows you 
are better off here than you could be with him.” 

“ Why don’t he wHte and tell me so, then ? ” 

“ O, he’s a boy. Boys don’t like to bother with 
letters.” 

Birdie shook her head. She could not accept this 
sort of reasoning. 

‘‘ Grand isn’t like other boys,” she said. 

“ I hope not, for the sake of other boys,” com- 
mented Honor inwardly, but she did not give expres- 
sion to this thought. Honor had a sharp tongue, but 
slie seldom used it in wounding any one’s feelings. 
She had her own opinion concerning Grand Gilmore, 
but there was no need that she should destroy Birdie’s 
faith in him. 

“Are you sure you gave him your address!” she 
asked, longing to comfort the child. 

“ Yes, very sure. I wrote it twice in big letters. 
He couldn’t possibly mistake it.” 

A sudden thought struck Honor. 

“ Who took the letter to the post-office ? ” she asked 
in a careless tone. 

“ I don’t know. I gave it to Aunt Mildred, so, of 
course, it must have gone.” 

Honor was not so sure of that. She half opened 
her lips to propose the writing of another letter, but 
closed them again. Mrs. Leroy, no doubt, desired to 


Voices Gone. 


181 


break up Birdie’s connection with her family, and it 
might, on the whole, be the wisest plan. The asso- 
ciation could do the child no good, and might se- 
riously interfere with her advancement, morally and 
socially. Of course, they would easily forget her. It 
was impossible to connect with either the brother or 
sister any association save that of gross ignorance and 
selfishness. There would be one mouth less to feed, 
at all events, and this was an important consideration. 
They would miss the gentle presence, doubtless, in a 
dumb way, something as animals miss one who . is 
kind to them, but there could be no lasting grief. 
The father, of course, had told them of Birdie’s good 
fortune. They might envy her, possibly, but they 
would take a very practical view of the matter. They 
were young people of ordinary judgment, no doubt. 
They would see that it was for the best and be satis- 
fied. What a pity Birdie could not forget them ! 
But then it was scarcely to be expected that she could. 
The child was affectionate and clinging in her dispo- 
sition, and this Grand had been kind to her in his 
rough way. Well, if she never saw him again she 
would be so much the better off. He was growing 
into manhood, and it was scarcely possible that he 
would not fall into his father’s footsteps. He could 
expect no better fate, poor boy. Birdie would see 
the day when she w^ould be heartily ashamed of her 
brother. 

Thus reasoned Honor, resuming her brush again 
and carefully blending tlie blue and golden tints in 
her sky until they seemed fairly to melt into each 
other ; and then, as she leaned back in her chair again 
to contemplate the effect, it struck her that she was 


182 


Royalized. 


playing the very part that she so heartily despised ; 
wrapping the cloak of purity and safety about this 
one sweet girl with her right hand, while she reached 
out the left to thrust those other young liv^es farther 
down into want and degradation, simply because they 
might cast a shadow over this pathway that she longed 
to make all brightness. 

Who had made them to differ ? AYhat was she. 
Honor Leroy, better than they, save that God had cast 
over her the shield of a quiet, sheltered life, pouring 
into her well-tilled hands richest stores of good while 
they caught at the crumbs which fell from her over- 
laden table ? And she was taking their all ; their one 
home treasure ; their one white lamb, whose innocent 
life, perhaps, was all that stood between them and 
moral destruction. Honor’s eyes lit up with a grand 
resolve. 

I will write to them this very night,” she said to 
herself decidedly, “ a long, kind, friendly letter, tell- 
ing them all they wish to know about Birdie, and sa- 
voring the whole with some good, sound advice. 
There is often wonderful power in a word to a boy in 
Grand Gilmore’s position, and I’ll put the letter in 
the mail-bag myself and see it safe in Jim’s black 
hands bound for the post-office. Birdie ! Why, 
where is the child ? She was here a moment a^o. 
Well, if a word from that brother of hers can chase 
the shadow from her brow she shall have that Avord, 
though I doubt if he ever wrote a letter in his life.” 

And Birdie, swinging her hat by its ribbons, was 
wandering thoughtfully down the smooth carriage 
drive toward the little old stone lodge very near 
the spot Avhere she had parted from her father. She 


Yoices Gone. 


183 


was quite fond of taking this walk. There were 
times when this new and luxurious life presented a 
strange sense of bondage; times when she felt a 
wild longing to get beyond the gates and % away 
from it all. Indeed, there were moments when 
the little dark, wretched, third-story tenement room 
seemed a sort of paradise to her imagination, because 
it held Grand. Belle and her father she might have 
dismissed from her thoughts, perhaps. They did not 
need her ; they were better off without her, no doubt. 
But Grand needed her. She could not remember the 
time when Grand had not needed her. She had been 
a part of his life. He was missing her sorely, she 
knew. He was angry with her, possibly, though he 
had never been so before. He must be angry now, 
or he would write just a word. But he never would. 
Birdie had grown utterly discouraged watching the 
mails, hope was dying out of her heart to-day ; and 
then Aunt Mildred had said such a strange thing this 
morning, when she put in her usual anxious query 
after her letter : 

I wouldn’t fret about Grand if I were you. He 
is busy, you know, and hasn’t much time to think 
about his sisters. Wait until Le Grand comes home ; 
you can have him for a brother. Will not that 
do?” 

Ho, it would not do. Birdie’s indignant eyes an- 
swered her very distinctly regarding that proposal. 
She had only laughed and forgotten all about it ; but 
Birdie did not forget. Birdie’s heart arose in re- 
bellion at the mere thought of this Le Grand whom 
she had not seen. She was quite sure she should not 
like him. Even his sister dreaded his return. She 


184 : 


Koya^lized. 


spoke of it often in Birdie’s hearing as something not 
to be desired, and Birdie herself was looking forward 
to the event in something like terror. She had seen 
a picture of him. It was a very disagreeable face, 
slie thought; very ugly, too, in comparison with 
Grand’s tine open countenance. No, she never 
wanted to see this boy. The very thought of him 
was odious. Accept him in place of Grand, indeed ! 
Her lip curled involuntarily at the suggestion. 

She sprang upon the gate railing, and leaning over 
it looked down the dusty highway. There was a 
carriage approaching — a light open carriage, with 
only two occupants t)esides the driver; an elderly 
gentleman and a young boy, she perceived as they 
came nearer, and — why, the carriage was actually turn- 
ing in at the gate. Birdie felt waves of hot crimson 
mounting to her hair. What a position for a young 
lady to be discovered in ! Actually swinging on the 
gate! She might jump off and run, but that would 
only make matters worse. No, she would stand her 
ground, and perhaps they would not notice her much ; 
and so, with eyes fastened upon the ground in utter 
confusion. Birdie did not see the very keen glance of 
mingled astonishment and interest which was directed 
at her from a pair of fine dark eyes ; but she heard a 
boy’s voice, drawling and disagreeable, exclaim : 

“ W ell, of all animals a tomboy was the last I ex- 
pected to find here. How do, sis ? Does your mother 
know you’re up there ? ” 

Birdie raised her eyes at this. The carriage was 
very close to her. The gentleman’s hand arrested the 
driver peremptorily. 

‘^We will get out here,” he said; and the next 


Yoices Gone. ' 185 

moment Birdie saw a white, shapely hand held out to 
assist her down. 

“ I hope the young lady will pardon my grandson’s 
rudeness,” the gentleman said, with sarcastic emphasis. 
“ I am hoping that time and culture may im23rove his 
manners.” 

Birdie was greatly embarrassed. Was the gentle- 
man making fun of her, or did he really mean what 
he said ? It was not easy to determine, for though 
liis face was very grave there was a gleam in his eyes 
not easily interpreted. - The boy had fallen behind 
sulkily, and was sending glances of dire displeasure 
at Birdie. Surely, he was a very disagreeable boy. 
It was almost incredible that he should be the grand- 
son of that line-looking, courteous gentleman. Birdie 
wished exceedingly that they would go on and leave 
her to recover her self-possession ; but neither of them 
stirred. Possibly they were strangers, and did not 
know the way to the house. Acting upon this sug- 
gestion, Birdie was about to offer her services in con- 
ducting them thither when the gentleman inter- 
posed, somewhat abruptly. 

“ If it is not an impertinent question, I would like 
to 'ask the young lady’s name!” he said, still keenly 
scanning the flushed face. 

“ Birdie Gilmore,” began the young lady, or,” 
confusedly, “ Birdie Leroy, here, I suppose.” 

‘^Indeed ! you suppose ! Young ladies are usually 
expected to know their own names. Which is it — 
Gilmore or Leroy ? It cannot be both.” 

“ It is Gilmore,” said Birdie shortly. 

It was evident that the gentleman was ridiculing 
her. 


186 


Koyalized. 


‘‘ Then why did you suppose it to be Leroy ? ” 
AVhy, Aunt Mildred calls me that, but my name 
is Gilmore.” 

“Aunt Mildred? Ah, I perceive. A niece of 
Mr. Leroy’s. I beg your pardon. Miss Gilmore.” 

Birdie fancied that she detected a ring of disap- 
pointment in his voice; perhaps he did not like 
Honor’s father. 

“ O no ; Mr. Leroy is not my uncle,” she said 
hastily, “nor Mrs. Leroy isn’t my aunt, either, only 
I call her so because she wants me to, and it comes 
natural to say it, because -I have an Aunt Mildred 
somewhere, mamma’s own sister. So I like to speak 
the name. Shall I show you to the house, sir ? ” 

Le Grand forgot liimself again at this. 

“ Show grandfather to the house, indeed ! ” he 
burst out scornfully, snapping his fingers in her face. 
“ Yes, do, madamoiselle, if you please. Grandfather 
has only lived here about thirty-five years or so. Of 
course he don’t know the way, and it would be bad 
enough if he got lost. Grandfather, did you ever set 
eyes on such a young idiot ? ” 

Mr. Le Grand turned upon him sternly. 

“Yes,” he said, with severe emphasis, “my eyes 
are at this moment set upon a young person who pre- 
sents the greatest possible claims to that flattering ap- 
pellation. Go into the house, sir ; you are not fit for 
the society of young ladies, I perceive. Do you hear 
me? Go!” 

And Le Grand had no choice but to obey, not even 
daring to cast back so much as a grimace at Birdie. 

Left to themselves Mr. Le Grand studied the ffirrs 
face with intense interest. Its resemblance to that 


Voices Gone. 


187 


of a young daughter he had lost was wonderful. 
There was no mistaking it for a chance likeness ; but 
how had a child of Hugh Gilmore obtained access to 
these premises? He must assure himself before he 
made further investigations. 

“Your name, you say, is Gilmore?” he observed 
courteously. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“ And Mrs. Leroy is not your aunt ? What is she, 
then ? ” 

“ A very good, kind friend, sir, that is all.” 

“ H’m ! Where is your home, little one ? ” 

“ Here, Aunt Mildred says.” 

“ At present, perhaps ; but I meant, where does 
your father live ? ” 

“In Hew York, sir ? ” 

“ How long have you been here ? ” 

“ About a month.” 

“ Did your Aunt Mildred send for you ? ” 

“ Ho, sir, I came.” 

“Alone ?” 

“ My father brought me, sir.” 

“Your father brought you here? How came he 
to do such a thing ? ” 

“ I don’t know. He said the lady owed my mother 
a debt.” 

“ What sort of a debt ? Money ? ” 

“ I think not ; he said she could never repay it.” 

“ She could not, indeed ! Why does not your 
mother collect her own debts ? ” 

“ My mother is dead, sir.” 

“ How long since ? ” 

“ About three years.” 


188 


Eoyalized. 


“What is your father’s name, child? His full 
name, I mean ? ” 

“ Hugh Gilmore.” 

“ And your mother's before her ‘marriage ? ” 

“ Rosalie Le Grand, sir.” 

“ Indeed ! Ho you know my name is Le Grand ? ” 

“Ho, sir, I did not know it. You cannot be a 
relation of mamma’s?” 

“ Why not ? ” 

“I don’t know,” hesitated Birdie, looking at him 
thoughtfully. 

It would not be so strange if he was— a sort of 
uncle or something. 

“ Ho you know where your mother was born ? ” he 
asked quietly. 

“ Why, somewhere on the Hudson River, not 
far from here, I guess. O, I wish you were her 
uncle.” 

“ Thank you. Hid you ever hear her speak of her 
father?” 

“ O yes, often. I don’t know whether he is alive 
or not.” 

“ You have never seen him, then ? ” 

“Ho. I never want to see him, either.” 

“ Why not ? ” 

“ O, he was so unkind to mamma, sir.” 

“ How was he unkind to her ? ” 

“ Why, she married against his wishes. Belle says, 
and he never spoke to her after. He never came to 
see her when she was dying. Grand hates him.” 

“ Who is Grand ? Your brother ? ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ What sort of a boy ? ” 


Voices Gone. 


189 


“ Wlij, a grand sort of a boj, sir,” said Birdie em- 
pliaticallj, lier eyes growing luminous. “He’s just 
like his name ; you’d be sure to think so if you 
knew him.” 

“ W ould I ? I am rather inclined to be critical. 
The boy of the nineteenth century does not in gen- 
eral strike me as a species of animal to admire. I 
confess I would be glad to meet with one who was 
even tolerable. This brother of yours you assert to 
be grand by nature as well as by name. What makes 
him different from other boys ? ” 

“ Why, I don’t know’. I can’t tell you, sir. I don’t 
know any thing about other boys, but I know Grand, 
and I wish you did. You couldn’t help liking 
him.” 

“ Which means, in the abstract, that he’s kind to 
his sisters. One rare quality in a boy, certainly. 
Who else is he kind to ? ” 

“ Father.” 

The gentleman frowned and hastened on with his 
cross-examination. 

“ I suppose this Grand of yours has only a few 
bad habits — a dozen or so ? ” 

“ What bad habits do you mean ? ” 

“ O, nothing to speak of ; a few trifling faults, such 
as chewing, smoking, swearing, and taking a glass of 
spirits now and then for the sake of good-fellowship.” 

“ Grand smoke, swear, drink ! ” cried Birdie, her 
eyes fairly blazing. 

“ Well, doesn’t he drink ! ” 

“ A\^hy, sir. Grand would as soon think of swal- 
lowing a glass of poison as a glass of liquor. The 
last word he ever spoke to mamma when she was 


190 


Koyalized. 


dying was to promise solemnly that not a drop of the 
vile stuff should ever pass his lips, and Grand always 
keeps his promises.” 

“ Always keeps his promises, does he ? Quite hon- 
est, is he, this young man of the streets ? Wouldn’t 
steal, or any such thing ? ” 

Birdie’s cheeks grew very hot. The only reply 
she could make to this question was an indignant 
flash of her eyes. It was evident that there was a 
limit to her endurance in this direction. The ‘gentle- 
man perceived it, and respected it accordingly. How- 
ever unworthy the object might be the child certainly 
pleaded her cause well. 

“ I beg your pardon,” he said hastily. “ I have 
grown skeptical with the years. I am prone to look 
upon youth with prejudiced eyes, I fear. Is your 
Grand; for instance, any thing like my grandson, the 
young gentleman who just left us ? ” 

“ Like tliat boy ? I should think not ! ” She 
stopped short. Wliat was this she was implying about 
the gentleman’s grandson ? But what a question ! 
Like her brother, indeed, that coarse, ill-bred boy ! 
There was simply no comparison between the two, 
but it would not be wise to say so ; therefore she held 
her peace, wondering why this splendid old gentle- 
man was manifesting so great an interest in her 
affairs. 

During the conversation they had been walking 
leisurely toward the house, and were just now ap- 
proaching the flower gardens. As they rounded the 
curve they came full upon Mrs. Leroy, who was giv- 
ing orders to her gardener for the removal of some 
rose-bushes. She raised her eyes to meet this unex- 


Voices Gone. 191 

pected apparition, and gave a great start of surprise 
and alarm. 

“ Father ! ” she ejaculated, turning a little pale as 
she stared first at the gentleman and then at Birdie. 

“ You were not expecting me jet,’’ remarked Mr. 
Le Grand complacently. 

“ Expecting you ! No, not for two months yet. 
What on earth brought you home so suddenly ? 
Where is Le Grand ? ” 

“ Haven’t you seen him ? You are extremely cor- 
dial in your reception, Mildred.” 

“ I was too much startled by your sudden appear- 
ance to do any thing but wonder. I’m sure I’m de- 
lighted to see you. How do you do ? ” 

Something in the expression of the lady's eye as it 
was directed toward her at this point told Birdie quite 
plainly that she was dismissed, and so she slipped 
quietly away, leaving the father and daughter to the 
discussion of any subject which they miglit choose. 

Mr. Le Grand did not speak until she was quite out 
of sight ; then, fixing his eyes upon his daughter’s face 
with an expression which said he would be truthfully 
answered, he asked sternly, 

“ Mildred, who is that child ? ” 

“Birdie? Why, she is a little homeless waif that 
I took a fancy to about a month ago, and have adopted 
as my own. I found her in destitute circumstances. 
Tlie father drinks, I believe, and is quite incapable 
of caring for his family. In fact, he gave her to me 
out and out.” 

“ And her father is Hugh Gilmore,” said Mr. Le 
Grand quietly. “ Do you mean to tell me that that 
fellow had the audacity to bring his child to you ? ” 


192 Koyalized. 

Mrs. Leroy cowered before the flashing eyes, trem- 
bling visibly. 

“ Why, who told you ? I mean you do not under- 
stand. I — ” 

False statements are wholly unnecessary, Mil- 
dred,” interrupted her father sternly. One look at 
the girl’s face is sufficient to identify her. Mildred, 
how dare you countenance that Juan ! ” 

“ Why, I don’t countenance him. I only counte- 
nance Birdie. I told him if I took her he must 
relinquish all right and title to her without reserve 
henceforward, which he signified his willingness to 
do. She is mine now, not his ; he has no earthly 
claim to her, and he knows it. Surely you are not 
angry, father. You would not have had me leave this 
beautiful girl to the care of such a creature as that? ” 

“ Her father brought her here, she says.” 

Ah, she has told you, then ? Does she know what 
she is to you ? ” 

‘‘ Apparently not ; but she shall know if she stays 
here. She is mine, Mildred, not yours ; understand 
that at once, if you please. I will assume the respon- 
sibility in this case.” 

“ Ah, indeed ! I did not suppose you would even 
favor my doing so.” 

“ Mildred, I have taken a fancy to the child. She 
is not responsible for the shortcomings of her parents. 
Her presence brings back painful associations, but 
since she is here I will look well to her future. How, 
if you please, we will drop the subject for the pres- 
ent and go in to dinner.” 

That night Honor wrote a lengthy and encourag- 
ing epistle to Birdie’s brother and sister, inscribing 


Voices Gone. 


193 


the address in strong, clear character's, and placed it in 
the mail-bag with her own hands. In the morning 
Mrs. Leroy, chancing to look over the budget of 
mail at the last moment, came upon this letter, drew 
it hastily out, and placed it in her pocket with a tri- 
umphant smile. 

“ That was a mere stroke of luck,” she said. “ Here- 
after I must look after this mail arrangement with 
open eyes, especially if I have Honor to combat.” 

13 


194 


HOYALIZED. 


XIY. 

ACKNOWLEDGED. 

“What’s done we may compute, partly, but know not what’s 
resisted.” 

Mb. Le Gband had certainly taken the most unac- 
countable fancy to Birdie. His daughter, strangely 
enough, was not quite pleased at tliis unexpected turn 
of events. True, it made the matter much easier for 
her, since there were to be no unpleasant conceal- 
ments, no managing, or deception of any kind ; but 
then, when one has expected epposition it is not al- 
ways the pleasantest tiling in the world to meet with 
full coincidence, especially to the extent of having 
things taken entirely out of one’s hands. To be will- 
ing to lavish the full affection of her own heart upon 
her sister’s child was one thing ; to be compelled to 
witness her father doing the same thing was quite 
another. Mrs. Leroy had been a trifle jealous of her 
father’s affections all her life long. She was not his 
favorite daughter. That had been manifest to every 
body in the days of Bosalie’s glory. He never took 
any pains to conceal his preference for his younger 
daughter. It was characteristic of this man to have 
no concealments. He was a person of strong views 
and fearless intents. Merited favor or merited blame 
always found a strong response in his nature, with- 
out regard to the perpetrator. His marked partiality 


Acknowledged. 


195 


in the case of his younger daugliter was not to be 
wondered at, people said ; Rosalie was in every way 
so vastly the superior of her plain, uninteresting, un- 
gifted sister. The contrast between them was patent 
to every body except Rosalie herself. She always 
maintained the same kind, loving, and deferential 
spirit and demeanor toward her elder sister, never 
intimating by so much as a look that she was in the 
slightest degree conscious of any superiority. In all 
the years of their separation Mrs. Leroy could not 
recall a single act on the part of her sister which 
might have been prompted by instincts of vanity or 
self-love. While all the world yielded her the^pahn 
she was the same modest, unassuming, large-hearted 
girl. ]^othing had power to turn her head ; to spoil 
her fine nature was impossible. 

Yet, strangely enough, Mildred Le Grand had been 
jealous of her sister; furiously so at times, to the 
extent of hating the sight of her bonny face. She 
thought those feelings had been buried in the grave 
of the long ago ; but, somehow, since the return of 
her father they seemed creeping into life again. 
Why could she not keep Birdie for herself ? She had 
love enough to give the child. What need had she 
of more? Why must her father’s heart turn toward 
this slip of a girl as it had turned toward no earthly 
thing since Rosalie went out of his doors twenty 
years ago ? Why could not her children have suf- 
ficed for him ? It was like robbing them of their 
birthright, that this stranger should, step in between 
them and their grandfather’s affections. Surely she 
and hers had the best right. Lo, these many years had 
she served hini; neither transgressed at any time his 


196 


Royalized. 


commandment ; but still the old partiality clung to 
him. ^sipped and blighted by an untimely frost, it 
would bloom again for Rosalie’s child. It was a hu- 
miliating tliought that her children siiould be set aside 
in this manner. Le Grand was conscious of it even 
at this early stage. Maud, too, only she controlled 
her emotions better — she never wore her heart on 
her sleeve. But Le Grand — poor boy, it was rather 
hard upon him. Ro wonder he hated the very curls 
of Birdie’s head ; and he did hate them most cor- 
dially, and took no pains to conceal the fact. 

Poor Birdie was sadly uncomfortable since his re- 
turn. He permitted no possible opportunity to pass 
for making her so. It was impossible for her to 
avoid him. He dogged her footsteps, haunting her 
uj^on every side. A dozen times every day at least he 
gave her some token of his dislike. It might be only 
a grimace or a sly pinch, but it was enough always to 
make the sensitive nature suffer tortures. She was 
beginning to wish heartily that she was safe at home 
again, under Grand’s protecting care. She gave ex- 
pression to this wish involuntarily one day, wlien the 
provocation had been carried a trifle further than 
usual. 

Why don’t you go home, then ? ” asked her cousin 
politely ; “ nobody hinders you. Hobody wants you 
here.” 

“ Somebody does want me, though,” she said hastily. 

“ Who, I’d like to know ? ” 

“ Why, Aunt Mildred.” 

. My mother ? Well, she’s a fool if she does. What 
on earth she can possibly find to want in a little beg- 
gar like you I can’t see.” 


Acknowledged. 197 

“ I’m not a beggar ! ” cried Birdie, growing white 
about the lips. 

“ I’d like to know what you are, then. Shall I tell 
you what Maud says about you ? ” 

“ I don’t care what she says.” 

“I’ll tell you, though, all the same. She says 
you’re a drunkard’s brat.” 

Birdie stamped her foot furiously. It was not 
often that her gentle spirit was moved out of its 
calm, but when once thoroughly roused it was ex- 
ceedingly fierce. Her passion glowed to a white heat 
now. Even Le Grand was awed by it for the mo- 
ment, and stepped back a pace. 

“You’re a mean, hateful, horrid boy!” cried 
Birdie, as soon as she could find her tongue. “ If 
Grand was here he’d kill you, I believe. I don’t care 
what Maud says, or you, either, you old red-headed 
coward ! ” 

Le Grand’s small light eyes glittered balefully as 
he drew near her with clinched hands. 

“Say that to me again, will you, little beggar?” 
he hissed, seizing her arm, and the next instant Birdie 
found herself lying upon the gravelly walk, her white 
dress soiled and torn, and her arms scratched and 
bleeding. She sprang up and made a blind dash at 
her tormentor, but before Le Grand could raise his 
puny fist for another blow a firm hand was laid upon 
]iis collar in no gentle way. 

“ Grandfather 1 ” he gasped, trembling with fright. 

“ Stand still, sir,” Mr. Le Grand said in a con- 
trolled voice, pushing Birdie aside with the other 
hand. “ How, what is the meaning of this disgraceful 
scene ? ” 


1C8 


Eoyalized. 


‘‘She called me a red-headed coward,” spluttered 
Le Grand. “ Of course I couldn’t stand that.” 

“Of course not. Wholesome truths are seldom 
palatable, and so you very gallantly knocked her 
down. That was a manly act, indeed. Now wdiat 
has Birdie to say ? ” 

“ He called me a brat ! ” cried Birdie, forgetting 
every thing save the insult — “ a drunkard’s brat ! ” 

“ indeed ! Did the young gentleman make any 
other courteous remark ? ” 

“ He called me a beggar ! ” 

“And it’s just what she is,” muttered Le Grand 
sullenly. 

The hand on his collar tightened its grasp. The 
flashing eyes looked him over and over with silent 
contempt. Le Grand wriggled about uneasily. His 
position was a very trying one. He longed to kick 
or scream, but he was afraid to do either. The hand 
that held him was like a vise. 

The silence was growing very uncomfortable. 
Birdie turned once or twice, to slip away, but the 
gentleman arrested her each time with a glance 
which she dared not disobey. The fury of her 
wrath had spent itself, and slie stood baslifully twist- 
ing the end of her sash-ribbon about her Angers, 
not even daring to brush the dirt from her dress 
while those stern eyes were there studying first Le 
Grand, then lierself, with the same merciless scrutiny. 

“Now, I have something to tell you, Master Whit- 
ney,” he said suddenly ; “ something to which I wish 
you to pay good heed and remember as long as you 
live. Do you know who it is that you have denomi- 
nated a beggar and a drunkard’s brat ? ” 


Acknowledged. 


199 


“Yes; she’s just that,” burst out Le Grand in- 
solently. 

“Yery well, sir, proceed; but remember you are 
insulting me now with every word.” 

“ How ? I have not mentioned you.” 

“ First, because you are insulting a lady, an 
offense which every gentleman considers personal 
when committed in his presence ; second, because 
in this instance you are insulting my granddaugh- 
ter.” 

He loosened his hold upon Le Grand as he spoke, 
and stepped in front of him, folding his arms com- 
placently. The boy stared at him uncomprehend- 
ingly. 

“What are you talking about? You must 
be crazy, sir. You have no granddaughter but 
Maud.” * 

“Have I not?” 

There was something in his tones strangely ex- 
ultant as he asked this question, and his eyes rested 
upon Birdie with an expression of tender pride, 
which Le Grand beholding was filled with intense 
bitterness. 

“ You have adopted her, I suppose ? ” he said with 
a sneer. 

Mr. Le Grand advanced toward Birdie and took 
her hand in his. 

“How, young man, listen,” he said, fixing his eyes 
sternly upon the boy, and speaking with an effort. 
“ I had a daughter who married against my wish. I 
never saw her face from her marriage day. She 
died some years ago, leaving several children. This 
young girl is one of them.” 


200 


Royalized. 


“Aunt Rosalie’s girl!” burst out Le Grand in- 
voluntarily. “ I don’t believe it ! ” 

“ She is Rosalie Le Grand’s own daughter,” went 
on the narrator, paying no heed to the interruption ; 
“ and your cousin. Master Whitney.” 

“She is not my cousin!” screamed Le Grand fu- 
riously ; “ I wont own her.” 

“ Your owning or disowning her is a matter of no 
consequence whatever; but there is another matter 
which is of the utmost consequence, as will be made 
extremely forcible if I ever find you again assuming 
the attitude toward her which you have illustrated 
to-day. Henceforward she is under my protection. 
You understand what that means, and will regulate 
your conduct accordingly. A word to the wise is 
sufficient.” 

Master Whitney slunk away, muttering wrathfully, 
and Mr. Le Grand was free once more to turn his at- 
tention to the young girl at his side. She was staring 
at him with wide, astonished eyes. What was this he 
had been saying ? That he was her mother’s father ! 
He, then, was the haughty, imperious grandfather 
whom Grand hated because he had cruelly disre- 
garded his mother. Her first feeling was one of 
regret. She had grown very fond of this old gentle- 
man during the few weeks of her acquaintance with 
him. He had manifested great interest in her and 
devoted a great deal of his time to her entertain- 
ment, so that she had come to look upon him as one 
of her best friends. It was not easy to believe him 
the cruel grandfather whose very name had borne a 
ring of terror in it to her childish ears. He had dis- 
owned and dishonored her mother. That was the 


Acknowledged. 


201 


one sin wliicli Grand could not forgive, and Birdie’s 
gentle heart was as stanch and loyal as her brother’s. 
It never occurred to her that to be the granddaughter 
of this man was an honor and a privilege. She 
never thought of the advantages which must accrue to 
her from such a relationship. She never thought of 
him as a rich, cultured, and influential gentleman ; she 
only thought of him as the man who had refused to 
come to her mother when she lay dying and had sent 
for him. 

‘‘Well,” he said, breaking the silence abruptly, at 
length, “do you understand what I have been telling 
Le Grand ? ” 

“ Yes, sir, I understand it.” 

Birdie’s voice was very quiet — too quiet, he 
thought. There was no pleasure in it. Could it be 
that, cliild as she was, she so deeply resented his atti- 
tute toward her mother ? 

“ I am very glad that I have found you, my child,” 
he said kindly. 

Birdie did not answer. The eyes that gazed straight 
- into his were full of saddest reproach. He could not 
bear to meet them. They were like the eyes of the 
daughter whom he had wronged. That young girl 
seemed to him, at this moment, a sort of avenging 
angel. He felt an involuntary awe of her. If she 
would only speak and break the spell ! She was only 
an ignorant child ; what right had she to stand there 
• mutely reproaching him ? 

“ Have you nothing to say, child ? ” he asked hn- 
patiently. “Are you disappointed in the knowledge 
of your connection with me ? I thought it would 
give you pleasure.” 


202 


Eoyalized. 


‘‘ [t does not,” said Birdie slowly. I liked yon so 
much, sir. I wish I had never known you were my 
grandfather. I would have been happy with you, I 
tliink.” 

And you will not be happy now, knowing who I 
am ? Is that what you are trying to say ? ” 

Yes, sir. I cannot stay with you now, of course.” 

‘‘ You cannot ! Why of coarse 

“ Why, I couldn’t, sir. You are Grandfather Le 
Grand ! ” 

“You are not ashamed of the relationship, I 
hope.” 

“ Not ashamed — O no, sir ! ” 

“ What, then ? ” 

“ Nothing, sir, only I’m very sorry.” 

The gentleman flushed angrily. Was he to be thus 
dealt with, at his age, by a child ? It was a little too 
absurd ; and yet those eyes held him as by a spell. 
He could not speak sternly to her. 

“What do you mean by this sort of talk?” he 
asked. “ You are sorry to be connected with one of 
the flrst families in the land ; is that it?” 

“ No, sir. I am sorry I have to go away.” 

“You do not have to go away. You shall never 
go away. You belong to me now. Do you under- 
stand?” 

Birdie shook her head sadly. 

“ I couldn’t stay here, sir.” 

“ Why not ? ” 

“ Why, it would be taking things from Grandfather 
Le Grand and Aunt Mildred. I would be worse than 
a beggar if I did that. Grand would have a right to 
be angry.” 


Acknowledged. 


203 


“Grand! Ah, that is the obstacle, I perceive. 
Grand has prejudiced you.” 

“ Grand is an honest boy, sir. He would die before 
he would take food from — ” 

She stopped short suddenly, remembering whom 
she was talking to. 

“ Grand is a very foolish, ignorant boy, and does 
not in the least comprehend what he is talking about. 
When he is older he may have better sense.” 

“ He has good sense now,” began Birdie eagerly ; 
but he stopped lier with an impatient gesture. 

“ I do not care to liear any thing more about Grand 
just now,” he said decidedly. “ At present my busi- 
ness is with you. You have imbibed some notions from 
your brother which are entirely wuthout foundation, 
and as overwrought as they are false. Fortunately, 
you are too young to be permitted to follow the bent 
of your inclination at this juncture. I therefore ad- 
vise you to abandon all these fancies at once, and put 
your mind upon other things. Of course, you will 
stay here ; if not from choice, from necessity. It is 
my intention to have you educated for your proper 
sphere in life. You are capable, I think, of filling a 
very admirable one, if you have strength of will suf- 
ficient. You will therefore turn your whole atten- 
tion to your studies, and dismiss all other subjects 
from your mind until you have arrived at an age to 
consider them intelligently.” 

“ And leave Grand and Belle to live and die in the 
attic and never learn any thing ? ” 

“ Such a fate is unnecessary to any one in these 
days. The road of fortune is open to every body who 
has pluck and determination.” 


204 


Koyaltzed. 


“ But it’s not open to them. How can it be with 
— father? ” She spoke the lost word hesitatingly. 
She knew it to be a forbidden subject here. 

Mr. Le Grand looked at her thoughtfully. There 
was a great deal in what she said. How was it possi- 
ble for these young people, his own grandchildren, to 
rise from their present degradation with such a dead 
weight dragging them down ? It might be that they, 
as well as this little sister, were worth saving, even 
with that man’s blood in their veins. But he would 
not commit himself. 

“ I will think of the matter,” he said carelessly, 
“ and perhaps I can find some way to help your 
brother and sister ; in the meantime you will do bet- 
ter not to think of them. Nothing must interfere 
with your advancement if you are to rise to the posi- 
tion which my granddaughter should aspire to.” 

“ But I must think of them,” persisted Birdie help- 
lessly. I cannot be happy or contented while 
Grand, who has just as good a right to these good 
things, is working himself to death to keep Belle 
and father from starving.” 

“ Well, well, child, don’t worry. Hard work never 
killed a boy of spirit yet. I’ll try and look up this 
Grand of yours some time, and no doubt I can put 
him in the way of something better. Will that con- 
tent you ? ” 

Yes, it would. Any thing which bid fair to be of 
beneht to Grand would fill this loyal little heart witli 
tlie utmost content. She began to think very kindly 
of Grandfather Le Grand. He was not in the least 
like the fierce, hard, cold-blooded tyrant which her 
imagination had conjured. Perhaps even Grand had 


Acknowledged. 


205 


been mistaken. Such a thing was possible. At all 
events, she liad no choice now but to accept the lot 
which had been cast into her lap. It was plain to be 
seen that she could never go back to her miserable 
home now, and if she did no good could come of it. 
The best she could do for her brother and sister was 
to remain where slie was and use lier influence to 
bring about a better state of things for them. 

“ Thank you, grandfather,” she said simply, the 
name coming from her lips as naturally as if it had 
been a liousehold word all her life. 

He stroked her hair fondly. This fair girl had 
taken a strong hold upon his aliections. 

“Birdie,” he said suddenly, “what is your real 
name ? I have never heard it.” 

“ Why, just Birdie; that is all.” 

“ But that is no name at all. You are sure there is 
no other ? ” 

“Ho other, sir. I was always Birdie.” 

“ Yery well ; that will do for a child, but now that 
you are growing into a young lady we must find a 
name for you. 1 think we will call you Bose — Bose 
Gilmore. Do you like it ? ” 

Birdie’s eyes shone. 

“ Yes, I like it because it was mamma’s name ; but 
then it will never sound right. I shall always be 
Birdie, I guess.” 


Eoyalized. 


206 


XY. 

ASPIRATIONS. 

“ Genius is the capacity for infinite painstaking.” 

Yes, she would always be Birdie. Even Mr. Le 
Grand soon discovered that to divest this girl of her 
pet name was quite impossible. It clung to her as 
the dim sweetness clings to a violet. No otlier name, 
however stately or however sweet, would do for her. 
She was just Birdie, singing and caroling from morn- 
ing till night. Xo matter liow dark the dajq no mat- 
ter liow lieavy lier own heart, she was always singing. 
She had almost forgotten Belle’s disparaging com- 
ments upon her voice. They could hardly be true, 
since every one here at Glendyn seemed so willing to 
listen to it. Even Maud admitted, the charm of Bird- 
ie’s voice, and had upon several occasions taken pains 
to display it before her choicest guests. Maud, in- 
deed, was quite willing to acknowledge her young 
cousin since she had been assigned her proper position 
in the household. In fact, she was obliged to admit 
that she was growing really fond of her. It was im- 
possible to live in daily contact with Birdie and not 
grow fond of her. There was a rare sweetness of 
disposition and quiet grace of manner about her 
which bore an irresistible attraction. 

Only one of all this household stood out against 
her. Le Grand had not forgiven her for usurping 


Aspirations. 


207 


what he deemed to be his rightful place in hi^ grand- 
father’s affections. He never would forgive her, he 
assured himself often, gritting his teeth revengefully. 
Though open hostilities must cease for a time, he was 
silently laying up stores of wrath for a day of reck- 
oning. Some day he would be master of Glendyn, 
and then ! — his light eyes glittered with an evil ex- 
pression as he contemplated the prospect. But for 
the time being he must guard his actions, which he 
contrived to do wonderfully, considering how little 
training he had had in the art of self-control. 

And so the days went by. Summer drifted away 
into the land of departed summers. October came 
with its golden mists, its crimson lights, and its pur- 
ple shadows, revealing such a world to Birdie’s de- 
lighted eyes as she had never dreamed of before* 
Then November swept her damp, gloomy mantle 
over the glory and put it out. The short, cold De- 
cember days had dawned, and still the Southern fam- 
ily lingered at old Glendyn. Tliey were strangely 
loth to quit the spot this year. The season had been 
such a delightful one, even the sunny South seemed 
to have lost its attraction, though Honor’s heart was 
beginning to beat with eager impatience for her first 
sight of that idealized country of which she used to 
read and dream so longingly during the long cold 
winters at the old snow-bound farm. 

Honor had grown wonderfully contented with her 
new life. She was not particularly fond of her step- 
mother or of Maud, still she had found them far more 
endurable than she had anticipated. They tacitly 
agreed to let this strong, bright spirit take its own 
way, so long as its own way did not clash with theirs. 


208 


Eoyalized. 


And thus they got on remarkably well together, con- 
sidering the incongruity of their natures. As for 
Honor’s father, he had become quite essential to her 
happiness. A strong affection for him had all uncon- 
sciously taken possession of her. Hot that her eyes 
were not open to his very palpable weaknesses ; she 
saw them as eyes less fond would not have seen ; 
saw them with daily increasing anxiety and pain, but 
notwithstanding this she was learning to cling to him 
with all the tenacity of her powerful nature. 

It was well for Mr. Leroy, at this period, that he 
had his daughter near him. She was the one thing 
in his whole province which restrained him. With so 
much to tempt him on every side it would have been 
the easiest thing on earth for him to fall into his old 
habits; but with Honor’s steadfast, searching eyes 
upon him it was not easy. She was possessed of all 
the stanch uprightness of her Hew England ances- 
try. She had no ready excuses for wrong-doing at 
hand. To her these little deviations from principle 
and rectitude were very grave errors, and she made 
no attempt to conceal her displeasure at them. To 
her right was right, and wrong was wrong. There was 
no compromising affairs of conscience. Aunt Eoxy’s 
stern, puritanical notions were the correct ones, and a 
life not capable of regulating itself thereby was not 
only weak but criminal. Thus she reasoned ; not in 
secret, but openly, when occasion demanded. Slie 
had no desire that her old-fashioned views on this 
point should be concealed from any one ; and thus her 
father, though he assured himself repeatedly that he 
cared nothing for her opinion — that 'he regarded her 
as a mere school-girl, quite incapable of judging for 


Aspirations. 


209 


a sober, middle-aged man — bad all unconsciously 
yielded to her influenge. He had a constant fear of 
her before his eyes. It was impossible that he should 
come in late at evening with his face unduly flushed 
and his breath strongly redolent of wine to meet the 
clear, steady, slightly contemptuous gaze of this fair 
young daughter whom he had named Honor. He 
almost wished at such times that he had left her to 
Aunt Hoxy and the daisied hills. Her life-training had 
been too pure- for this sort of existence. She knew 
so little of the great social evils of the day, it was 
rather a pity that she should be compelled to learn 
them. Such knowledge was not essential to her. She 
need meet no temptations — a woman’s life was so 
sheltered. It was easy enougli to be honest and stead- 
fast and pure, shut away from the dust and whirl- 
winds of life as women were. But a man must go 
down under the force of tlie tempest now. and then, 
no matter if he was a responsible being ; no matter 
if there were young eyes looking toward him for 
example. He could not help it. And thus he took 
refuge behind his old, old excuse, the excuse of all 
weak hearts — he could not help it. Nevertheless he 
did help it a trifle since Honor’s eyes had assumed 
tlie right to reproach him, and her lips to curl in 
silent scorn upon him. Tliese were influences more 
potent than he had any idea of. 

Honor perceived the power which she was gaining 
over him, and rejoiced greatly in it ; but she knew she 
must be very wary if she would retain it. It would 
take so little to break the spell ; just one rash word 
might effect its overthrow, and once gone it would 
be hard to renew it. She understood her father thor- 
14 


210 


Koyalized. 


oughlj. He was not a radically bad, unprincipled 
man ; but he was weak — the weakest of the weak, she 
thought at times, with lips that wmuld curl in spite 
of herself. Honor had a vast contempt for any thing 
like a want of will-power in a man. It might be par- 
tially excusable in a woman, but in a man never. 
Still, this man was her father. The tie of nature 
was very strong, and, besides, he was very lovable in 
many respects ; fascinating,” ladies had been known 
to call him, but Honor saw nothing fascinating in a 
nature devoid of self-government. There was too 
much that was pitiful in human weakness. 

Still, he had qualities that were lovable, and Hon- 
or’s warm young affections fastened themselves upon 
him almost imperceptibly, even to herself. One thing 
she w^as fully resolved — she would not leave him 
again. Of his own will he had sought her, and he 
must abide by the consequences of his act, even 
though he came in time to regret it. If Giod had 
no other life-work for her but to be a shield, ever so 
slight, between this man and moral degradation, she 
knew she would not have lived in vain. 

And so the days glided away swiftly and noiselessly 
into the past while their lives were sowing their dif- 
ferent seeds and preparing their different harvests. 
Birdie, alas ! no longer watched the mail-bag with that 
sickening anxiety. It certainly was very strange of 
Grand ; it was most unlike him. The eager liope had 
died out of the faithful little heart utterly, and in its 
stead came a sort of proud stilving after indifference. 
Evidently he resented her remaining at Glendyn. 
He knew what she had not known when she wrote 
her first letter. Her father had told him, doubtless, 


Aspirations. 


211 


with whom he had left her. lie had not dared to tell 
her, knowing as he did in what esteem their mother’s 
relatives were held by his children ; but he had told 
the others when it was too late for them to oppose 
his scheme, and Grand had chosen to turn angry at 
her because she had stayed. But how foolish ! How 
did he expect she was to get away? She had no 
money; and even if she had she doubted if she could 
find her way home alone. He might have thought 
of these things ; at least he coi^ild have written just 
a word or two ; even if he was disgusted with her he 
might have had the grace to say so. This persistent 
silence savored strongly of sullenness — a quality so 
entirely foreign to Grand that she was wholly at a 
loss to account for it. It certainly was a most unwel- 
come revelation of her brother’s character. All her 
life Birdie had believed in Grand. Even when every 
one else spoke ill of him and predicted for him a. 
sorry future, this one brave, gentle little ally had 
clung to him with persistent faithfulness. , But there 
had come a day when she could no longer hold to her 
childish confidence. This chilling silence spoke vol- 
umes. Even Honor was surprised at it. Unfavor- 
able as her opinion of this boy had been, she had 
thought more kindly of him than this. Light, trivial, 
rattle-brained she did consider him, but not cruel ; not 
heartless. But he must be so. Hothing but a merci- 
less, unforgiving spirit could stand out against such 
an earnest, soulful appeal as that which she had writ- 
ten and placed in the mail with her own careful 
hands, so that it might not fail to reach him. Well, 
if this was his character it was a happy thing for 
Birdie that she had escaped him. Had she continued 


212 


Royalized. 


to cling to him, sooner or later his iinkindness must 
have manifested itself toward her, and so she told the 
little sister in the gentlest possible terms ; using her 
utmost endeavor to induce her to think no more 
about him or the miserable home from which she had 
so fortunately escaped. 

But Birdie shut her lips resolutely. She might have 
her own hard thoughts of her brother, but no one else 
should share them, or know that a doubt of him had 
ever crossed her inmost thought. And so, as the days 
rushed by, each one taking more and more of that 
old hope from her heart, she grew singularly quiet 
and content. Since Grand cared so little what be- 
came of her, she resolved, in her proud little 'heart, 
that she would do as they bade her. She would think 
of him as little as possible. There was so much to 
see, so much to learn, so much to love in this grand 
new life of hers, had she been possessed of a lighter 
nature it would have been an easy thing to forget all 
that was connected with the wretched past, there w^as 
so little to remember in it besides destitution and 
shame and fear and pain. Surely, the change was dis- 
tractingly beautiful, and their grandfather was so veiy 
kind. Even Grand would not have cherished his 
bitter feelings tovrard him had he ever known him. 
As for mamma, she had never in her life spoken a 
disrespectful word of him. She had loved him with 
all a daughter’s fondness for an idolized father even 
through the years of his cold inflexibility and unkind- 
ness, and she must have known him better than Grand. 

And so, as the days grew short. Birdie found her- 
self happier far than she had supposed it possible for 
her to be, separated and estranged from the one being 


Aspirations. 


213 


who hitherto had been her all, for the world was tak- 
ing on a new aspect to Birdie. That dim, sweet dream 
which all her life had lain hidden away in the most 
sacred recesses of her wise little heart was assuming 
the proportions of a tangible and delightful reality. 

‘‘ What do you want to do most of any thing ? ” 
her grandfather asked, coming upon her suddenly as 
she stood in the library window one day, her great 
eyes fixed thoughtfully upon the shifting clouds. 

The question was so unexpected that she answered 
abruptly, the words rushing forth involuntarily. 

“ Learn to sing.” 

“ Why, do people learn to sing ? I thought that 
was a free gift which came without effort.” 

‘‘ O, not to me ; I think I could learn, though ; 
don’t you ? I have a voice.” 

“ I should say so. A voice like a thrush. It seems 
to me to need no cultivation. Art would spoil it, 
would it not ? ” 

‘‘O no, no! Grand says—” She stopped ab- 
ruptly. What Grand said was of so little account 
here she had grown reticent, hesitating to quote 
him of late. 

‘‘What does Grand say?” asked Mr. Le Grand 
curiously. He was struck with sudden wonder as to 
what this ignorant young vagabond could possibly 
have to say upon the subject of musical culture. 

“ Why, he says my voice is like a diamond in the 
rougli, that it will never shine until its polished, or 
something of that sort. He was always hoping I 
might be taught some time.” 

“ Doesn't he believe in genius, then ? ” 

“ I don’t know what you mean by genius, sir.” 


214 


Koyalized. 


Why, natural gifts. Birds, for instance, are never 
taught to sing, and what can equal their warbling? 
Surely no trained human voice.” 

Birdie shook her head doubtfully. 

“ I guess God teaches the birds to sing,” she said 
quietly. 

,, “ And he does not teach human beings?” 

“ Why, sir, I think God wants us to be educated, 
and just as much in our voices as any thing else ; don’t 
you ? ” 

“ Indeed I do,” said the gentleman heartily. He 
was greatly pleased with her answer. Surely she was 
a young person of advanced judgment. She would 
do credit to the pame yet. He would draw her out a 
little further. 

“ But really, my dear, your voice is charming as it 
is. I fear training would have the effect of render- 
ing it artificial.” 

O no, sir. All great singers have been trained.” 

“O, you aspire to greatness, eh? Well, really, I 
was not aware that you were ambitious, child.” 

“ I am, though,” she said, her cheeks glowing like 
carnations ; “ I want to be like those great ladies who 
earn a thousand dollars a night by their singing. 
Why shouldn’t I do it ? ” 

Mr. Le Grand looked at her in surprise. This, in- 
deed, was a new phase in her character. He was not 
sure that he liked it, but it amused him greatly. He 
dropped down upon the nearest chair and indulged 
in a hearty laugh. Birdie’s cheeks grew very hot at 
this. Tears of mortification rushed to her eyes. 
Well, then, after all. Belle had been right. She 
could never sing. Alas, how the air-castle toppled to 


AspieationS. 


215 


the ground at the sound of that laugh ! How all the 
rosy dreams took to themselves wings and flew away ! 

“ You certainly are an aspiring young person,” Mr. 
Le Grand said as soon as he could command his voice. 
But Birdie put out her hand imploringly. She did 
not feel equal to any thing more of this kind. 

‘‘ Please don’t talk about it,” she said simply. ‘^1 
know I’m a little goose. Belle always told me so. I 
will never speak of it again, sir.” 

He caught the despairing ring in the plaintive voice 
and sobered immediately. 

‘‘ Speak of it as often as you wish, child,” he said 
hastily. “ Why should you not ? Of course you 
shall have advantages if you want them. I am only 
too glad to give you the opportunity of improving 
_ any gift that is in you. I would be the last person 
to stand in the way of your advancement.” 

‘‘What were you laughing at?” asked Birdie, 
eying him rather severely. 

“ Only at your wonderful ambition, child, and the 
prospect of my granddaughter as an opera singer.” 

“ Is there any thing wrong about an opera singer ? ” 
she asked doubtfully. 

“ Nothing wrong, certainly, but the connection 
struck me as a little absurd. It is scarcely the posi- 
tion, I think, for a wee modest maiden like yourself. 
You were not designed for an actress.” 

“ Then I can never earn money by my voice ? ” 
asked Birdie disappointedly. 

“ Money ? What do you want of money, child. I 
was not aware that you were possessed of a mercenary 
spirit. Are not all your wants supplied ? If not, 
you know you have only to speak.” 


216 


Royalized. 


O, it’s not that. I have enough, but the others, 
you know.” 

“What others? O, that brother and sister. I 
thought you agreed to give up worrying about them. 
They are well enough, no doubt.” 

“ Grandfather, they are not well enough. You 
don’t know any thing about the way they live. I 
wish you did. I wish you would go and see them.” 

“ Well, well, perhaps I will, some day, if you can 
tell me where to find them. I usually spend my 
winters in the city, and shall have plenty of time, no 
doubt ; but just now, what to do with you is the im- 
portant question.” 

“ What to do with me, sir ? ” 

“ Why, yes, I want to send you somewhere to be 
educated.” 

“ Why must you ? Why can’t I stay here ? ” 

“ Wliy, they are all going in a month, child.” 

“ But I could stay to be your housekeeper. O, I 
would like it so much ! ” 

“So would I, my dear, but I cannot permit it just 
yet. You would find it rather lonely here with only 
me for company.” • 

“O no, I wouldn’t. Nothing would suit me 
better.” 

He smiled fondly. 

“ But it would not suit me,” he said. “ At present 
I must have you in school. I do not believe much 
ill home education. It does not tend to make young 
people strong and self-reliant, like mingling with 
those of their own age and attainments. Competition 
is the life of education as well as of trade. Birdie, I 
have decided to send you to Baltimore.” 


Aspieations. 


21Y 


“ Where is that, sir ? ” 

“What, you don’t know! Well, it is really time 
you went, then. It is a pretty good day’s journey 
from here.” 

Birdie’s eyes dropped and her heart sank. The 
prospect was not pleasant. Mr. Le Grand read- the 
silent dread in the downcast face. 

“ Do you wish to make the best possible of your- 
self ? ” he asked somewhat sternly. 

Birdie’s eyes flashed. Her father’s parting words 
that she treasured so tenderly! Yes, she did want 
to make the very best ; and dreaming would not ac- 
complish it. Nothing but hammering and forging 
would. Well, then, she was ready. 

“ I will go anywhere you want to send me,” she 
said hastily, and then rushed away to hide the tears 
that would not be kept back. 


218 


lioYALIZED. 


XYI. 

A WISE SON. 

“ It is very good for strength to know that some one needs you to 
be strong.” 

There was a rap at Mrs. Blake’s door — a quick, 
short, decided rap, very unlike the dull, heavy thumps 
which that battered old door was accustomed to re- 
ceive. Mrs. Blake’s ear, all untrained to the niceties 
of discrimination as it was, recognized a difference — 
a very decided difference. 

Xow, who ever can that be ? ” questioned the 
good woman inwardly, as she set down her iron. 
“Sounds considerable like Grand Gilmore, though 
goodness knows it can’t be him.” 

She threw the door open abruptly, and stared at 
her strange guest in wide-eyed surprise — a gentle- 
man who might be sixty or over, with that iron- 
gray hair, but such a gentleman as had never, to her 
knowledge, set foot in these dark, dingy corridors 
before. What could he possibly want? Mrs. Blake 
felt her honest face reddening as those keen dark 
* eyes glanced past her into the poor little room. be- 
yond. It was faultlessly neat and clean, to be sure, 
but such a wretched apartment to undergo such 
scrutiny as this! 

“ Good-morning, sir,” she managed to stammer, her 
face becoming the picture of confusion as she sud- 


A Wise Son. 


219 


denly recollected that it was late in the afternoon. 
But the gentleman did not smile. He lifted his hat 
courteously. 

‘‘Is this Mrs. Blake ? he asked. 

“Yes, sir. Would you please step inside, sir?” 
she asked, feeling it incumbent upon her to say some- 
thing, and being at a loss as to the proper thing. 
Contrary to her expectation he did step inside, and 
closed the door after him. 

“ Can you give me any information concerning a 
family named Gilmore, who used to occupy the rooms 
above you ? ” he asked, sitting down upon one of the 
wooden chairs. 

“ O, you’ve been up there, have you ?” 

“ I called at the door, and was informed that the 
family had left a month ago, and that if any one 
could enlighten me as to their whereabouts you were 
the person most likely to do so.” 

Mrs. Blake found her tongue. It was the Gilmores 
he was after, then. That accounted for it. There 
was nothing very strange in the connection. She had 
always known there was blue blood in those cliildren. 
It told in their speech, as blood is more likely to tell 
than in any other w^ay. They had never talked like 
their neighbors. Even that drunken brute, Gilmore 
himself, had a gentleman’s tongue in his head when 
he was in any condition to control it, which was not 
often. Mrs. Blake grew interested now that she knew 
who her strange visitor was in search of. 

“ I don’t know as I can tell you very much about them, 
sir,” she began volubly. “ They left about a month 
ago because the boy, Grand, got a better place, I believe, 
of some sort or other. Seems to me he hired for a 


220 


Koyalized. 


clerk ill a grocery store, or something. I wont be 
certain. Any how, I never knew nothin’ about it till 
the mornin’ they went. It was one Monday ; I was 
a-washin’, and Belle came in, her eyes shinin’, and 
said they was goin’ to move into a better room, I for- 
get what street, where they could get more air and 
sunshine. I tell you that’s a fine boy, that Grand 
Gilmore, sir. I ’spect you know all about it, 
though.” 

The keen eyes fastened themselves upon her inter- 
estedly. 

“ I know very little about it,” he said. 

‘‘You do? Well, now, I’m sorry for that. I 
thought may be they might be some kin o’ yours.” 

“ Why did you think that ?” 

“Well, I really can’t exactly tell, sir; only it 
seemed sort o’ natural like. They’re no common 
folks, them children haint.” 

“ How many children are there ? ” 

“ Why, two, only two now — Grand and Belle — and 
they’re no children either. There was a little girl 
they called Birdie ; she got lost one day last summer, 
and they never seen a trace of her since.” 

“ Lost ? ” 

“Yes, sir, out and out. You see, ’twas this way. 
One day they all went away and left lier alone, and 
when they came back she was gone. Grand nearly 
went crazy when she didn’t come back — hunted the 
city all over, and had the police huntin’, and put up 
advertisements in the paper, and I don’t know what 
all, and never a whimper could he get of her. He 
worried for days and days. He couldn’t eat nor 
sleep. I thought he’d go crazy.” 


A Wise Son. 


221 


‘‘ And lie never obtained any clew to her ? ” 

“Not a word, sir. It’s the queerest case that ever 
was. She’s just vanished, and no one knows whether 
she’s dead or alive. I believe she was kidnapped. I 
can’t account for it no other way.” 

“ And the young man, has he recovered his spirits 
by this time ? ” 

“ That he haint, sir, and never will till he gets on 
track of her. He’s a boy that don’t say much, but 
you can see plain enough. It don’t need no words. 
Why, he’s growed ten years older this year. I don’t 
wonder at it, neither, for the girl was as sweet as a 
flower, and such a singer ! It would do your heart 
good to hear her, sir.” 

“ And was the brother the only one of the family 
who sought the child, or mourned after her?” 

“ Well, yes, sir, I guess he was. Belle’s a light, 
giddy thing ; she can’t worry about any thing long, 
and the father— well, he’s drunk most of the time. 
He drowns his troubles that way. I believe the chil- 
dren think he knows more about Birdie than he cares 
to tell. I’m not so sure of it, but it might be. He 
never opens his mouth, though. Belle told me that 
Grand tried his level best to get something out of him 
that first night. It ’pears he was the last one that 
saw her, but not a word would he say, and whenever 
her name is mentioned now he gets mad and goes out ; 
so they don’t dare to say any thing about Birdie to him 
no more, ’cause wlien he goes out that way he’s sure 
to come in dead drunk. It’s a pitiful case, sir.” 

“ It is, indeed. Such an example must have a ter- 
rible effect on his son.” 

“ Example ! Bless you, sir, he’s no example. That 


222 


Koyalized. 


’ere boy’s made of solid gold, I tell you. No dan- 
ger of liis failin’ into bad ways. Why, you never 
see any thing like the grit he’s got. If it hadn’t 
been for him them girls would ’a’ died in the streets 
long ago, and the father too. He’s all that keeps 
their heads above water, bless him ! He’s a boy of a 
thousand, sir. If he don’t turn out something extra 
I’ll miss my guess. The boss of them brick-yards 
where he worked last summer told me himself he 
never see sich a plucky youngster. Nothing was ever 
too much for him ; but if ever a boy was overworked 
he was. I was glad enough, for my part, when he 
got into easier business, even if it did take him out 
of my reach, and the Lord only knows how I miss 
the sound of his whistling in the haUs.” 

‘‘ You are very fond of this boy, I perceive,” said 
the stranger, a gleam of unmistakable interest in his 
tine eyes. 

Fond of him ! Yes ; no one could help it, sir. 
He’s a boy as would ’a’ made his mother’s heart glad 
if she’d lived to see him grow up. I always thought 
it was sich a pity she couldn’t ’a’ lived — not but what 
she’s better off and all that — but this son would ’a’ 
made up to her for all she’d gone through witli, I 
reckon.” 

“ He must, indeed, be a model boy,” said the gen- 
tleman, with a slight involuntary curl of the lip. 

Indeed, he’s just that. I never set eyes on his 
like ; not that he’s a saint or any thing o’ that. He’s 
a will of his own, and a temper, too, that speaks out 
when it’s riled ; but for all that he’s a boy of a thou- 
sand. Sich forbearance as he’s showed to that drunken 
father o’ his’n ! Many and many’s the time I’ve 


A Wise Son.' 


"223 


roused from my sleep at midniglit to hear him helpin’ 
that wretched crittur up the stairs when he’s been too 
drunk to walk alone, and him a-swearin’ and strikin’ 
at the boy at every step, and never a disrespectful or 
hateful word escaped Grand’s lips. Laws, it makes 
my blood boil to think of it ! And then sich a brother 
as he’s been to them girls ! Keepin’ Belle like a lady 
a’ most, as far as work goes. She never soiled the tips 
of her pretty white fingers till Birdie went away. 
Since then she’s made out to stir herself a bit ; but 
Grand sees to every thing, so she needn’t worry, and 
looks after her, too, sharp as a cat, keepin’ her out of 
the street as much as he can ; for she’s a pretty girl, 
and silly too. She needs a heap o’ lookin’ after, with 
no mother. But Grand keeps her straight. She’s 
afraid of him in her way, and does pretty much as he 
says, though it goes against the grain now and then. 
But tell me, sir, where’s there another boy as would 
bother his head about his sisters that way ? Belle’s 
just as able to take care of herself as he is to do it 
for her, besides bein’ ’most two years older. I tell 
you, sir, take it day in and day out, that boy haint got 
his equal in this city.” 

The gentleman arose hastily. He was beginning 
to think so himself. 

“ And you cannot tell me where to find them,” he 
said disappointedly. 

‘‘ Why, yes, I don’t know but I can. Come to think 
of it now. Belle did give me a slip of paper with the 
street and number writ on it, if I can only find it. 
Lemme see. O, now I know. I put it in the bot- 
tom of my mendin’ basket, so’s to be sure and not 
lose it.” 


221 


• Koyalized. 


She retreated to a corner of the room, dived into 
the depths of a well-tilled basket which stood on the 
floor, and returned with a bit of brown paper in her 
hand. 

“ Here it is, sir. Don’t know as I should ever have 
made it out, but s’pose you wont have no trouble 
readin’ it.” 

He seized it eagerly, with thanks, and proceeded to 
bid Mrs. Blake a very hasty good-evening. 

The good woman was consumed with curiosity as 
she watched him out of sight. She was quite at a loss 
to account for his interest in the Gilmores. He could 
hardly be a relative, since he knew so little about them ; 
but it was evident that he had some concern respect- 
ing them. Such a fine, noble-looking old gentleman 
as he was ! Without doubt a big-wig of some sort — 
might be an earl or a duke for aught she knew. 

It Wouldn’t be strange if the Gilmores’ lucky star 
was in the ascendant. Beally, she must take time to 
stop round and see them this evening, if it wasn’t too 
far away ; and tlien, alas ! she suddenly remembered 
that she had parted with her last clew to these young 
people. How very tlioughtless ! They were as lost 
to her now as if tlie wide sea rolled between tliem. 
They were likely to drift away from her sight 
forever, and she would never know how it turned 
out — whether Birdie ever came back again or not ; 
whether the fine gentleman proved to be some rich 
great uncle who would lift them at once from want 
and obscurity to grandeur and affluence ; and whether 
Belle would j-ealize her dreams at last and turn out a 
fine lady and ‘‘ walk in silk attire.” Ho, she would 
never know. Mrs. Blake heaved a great sigh at the 


A Wise Son. 


225 


reflection. Glancing from her tiny window she be- 
lield the gentleman step into an elegant carriage and 
wheel away over the cobble-stones. It was too late 
to stop him now. He could not have heard had she 
called ever so loud ; and so he disappeared, taking 
with him her only means of gratifying her curiosity 
concerning the young Gilmores or her affection for 
them. 

The gentleman himself, lying back among his 
luxurious carriage cushions, was conscious of a variety 
of emotions. The principal one, it must be confessed, 
was that of curiosity. 

W as it possible, after all, that he had a grandson 
who was worthy of him, or was all tliis the mere 
blarney of an ignorant, kind-liearted woman? Well, 
he would know. It would not require many moments 
for him, with liis keen insight into character, to de- 
termine whether or not these flattering accounts 
were just ones ! If they were not, he knew h(^ should 
be cruelly, disappointed, for, foolish as the hope 
might be, he had allowed himself to hope. It would 
be such a good thing, such a glorious brightness 
upon the sunset clouds of his life, if there were hut 
one to come after him who would make the good old 
blood of the Le Grands speak out still, when his dust 
should have returned to dust. 

The carriage rattled on noisily. It was certainly 
a most disagreeable part of the city, this. Mr. Le 
Gj’and had scarcely been aware before that there were 
such dens as these in existence. Man of the world 
as he was, and cognizant of its darkest side, still this 
phase of human life was almost new. How did 
people live in such places? Ay — and his fine, aristo- 
15 


226 


Eoyalized. 


cratic face blushed with sudden shame — people, too, 
with the proud blood of the Le Grands in their veins ! 
Kosalie, even, his cherished daughter upon whom he 
had scarcely permitted the wind to blow roughly in 
her fair girlhood — Kosalie had descended to this! 
To this and worse, possibly, while he, her father, bur- 
dened down with an abundance of this world’s goods, 
had stood aloof, wrapping himself in the icy mantle 
of his wounded pride, and refused bread to the 
starving lips of his own child ! Alas, that these bitter 
memories should come crowding thick and fast upon 
him ! He thought he had done wdth that old pain — 
thought he had buried it in Kosalie’s grave ; but here 
it was again, choking him as it had not done before 
in years. It was of no use to excuse himself ; ‘ no use 
to build up her own wrong-doing as a barrier for his 
conscience to couch behind. She had been impru- 
dent, it .was true. She had been headstrong and self- 
willed »and unreasoning. He saw through Hugh 
Gilmore from the first ; saw that he was shame- 
fully weak and easily influenced ; saw that he had 
built up a character upon no basis whatever. He 
would rather far have seen his peerless daughter in 
her grave than wedded to such a man, and so he had 
told her in tlie sternest possible terms, but she would 
pay no heed. She had ohly reaped as she was deter- 
mined to sow. It was but strict justice that she should 
suffer the consequences of her own folly ; but all the 
same, if the drama was to be enacted over again he 
w^as very sure he should play a different part. 

It had occurred to him quite often of late that he 
had not dealt with his wayward child as the great 
Father over all was dealing with him. Well, it was 


A Wise Son. 


227 


too late to remedy the past now, as far as Kosalie 
herself was concerned, but he might make amends in 
part to her children. They were young. Their 
lives were before them. The dead past must bury 
its dead, but there might be nothing in the way of 
a tardy reparation as concerned these young lives. 

The carriage came to a sudden halt, at last, before 
a rickety old tenement house, which, however, was a 
trifle better than the one which he had left. The 
driver, after waiting a few moments for his master to 
alight, got down and opened the carriage door ob- 
sequiously. Mr. Le Grand waved him aside with an 
impatient gesture. 

“ Go back to your seat ; I am not ready to get out 
yet.” He pushed up the glass as he spoke, and 
looked keenly about him. How disgusting it was, 
with that vile scent of onions and stale ale taintino^ 
the evening air. It was beginning to grow dhsky in 
the alley now. An old man was lighting the lamps. 
What a place for Rosalie’s children ! and still not 
quite so wretched as the home they had just left. 

Ah ! He drew back, a sudden sense of heart-sickness 
making his face pale. A man came reeling down the 
sidewalk, muttering thickly to himself. It was years 
and years since the gentleman in the carriage had 
last looked upon that face, but he knew it. Yes, he 
knew it — though it was changed almost beyond recog- 
nition. Eyes less keen would scarcely have traced 
the faintest likeness to the fair, reflned, poet face of 
the brilliant young law student who had won Rosalie 
Le Grand’s pure heart in that ill-starred summer so 
long ago. Long ago? Yes, twenty years; but it 
seemed scarce as many days. Poor Rosalie! How 


228 


Eoyalized. 


Jier beauty must have faded out, chained for life to 
such a debasing object as that. Truly, she had reaped 
the whirlwind. Bitter had been the fruits of her 
folly — more bitter than she deserved. He ground 
his teeth unconsciously, as he looked again and re- 
membered that he w^as looking at his daughter’s 
husband. 

The man came staggering toward him, singing 
idiotically, his bleared eyes too dull to notice the un- 
usual spectacle of that carriage, with its liveried 
coachman, standing, waiting at such a place as this. 
As he came directly in front of the house the street 
door was suddenly thrown open, and a young girl 
dashed noisily out. She was tall, fair, and graceful, 
and but for the tawdriness of her attire would have 
been exceedingly genteel and ladylike. That, how- 
ever, spoiled her completely. The light of the 
street lamp revealed soiled ribbons and cheap orna- 
ments. A dingy blue feather went round her hat 
and drooped over her pretty blonde hair. Her eyes 
were blue, light, but large and long-lashed. Under 
other circumstances she might be a pretty girl, Mr. 
Le Grand thought, watching her with keen interest ; 
but now, that sense of sick disgust came over him 
again. He almost wished he had never taken the 
trouble to hunt up these grandchildren. Still, he 
might be mistaken regarding this girl. He had no 
proof of her identity, and she was certainly very un- 
like Birdie. 

But he was not long to remain in doubt. The 
girl’s eyes at once took in the elegant carriage and its 
pale, aristocratic- faced occupant. She was wonder- 
stricken. This truly was an unwonted sight for these 


229 


A Wise Soij. 

quarters. The blue eyes grew wider and wider as 
they stared. Who could it be ? What was going to 
happen ? All the silly, impossible romances she had 
ever read whirled in rapid succession through the 
giddy brain. What did it argue — such an establish- 
ment as that stopping directly in front of her own 
miserable home? Had the fairy prince, who was to 
open her prison doors, come at last ? Hardly, for tlie 
gentleman was too old ; but that he had something to 
do with her future the girl was morally certain. Her 
heart beat thick and fast at the thouglit. What if 
the time had really come of which all her life she had 
been vaguely dreaming ! She was just considering 
what move she ought to make. Would she step up, 
with her sweetest smile, and speak to the gentleman, 
or would it be a more diplomatic act to stand directly 
under the sickly glare of the street lamp and pose 
gracefully, with downcast eyes and pensive expres- 
sion? She did neither. The question was decided 
for her by a sudden lurch of the staggering man, 
which brought his burly form against her with such 
force that it required a stout effort to keep on her 
feet. The fair face darkened. She raised her small 
hand and struck the man an angry blow across his 
bloated cheek. The dull eyes looked into hers un- 
comprehendingly ; the disfigured lips smiled in a 
maudlin, senseless way. 

‘‘ There now. Belle, dearie, don’t you love your old 
father ? ” he asked thickly. 

‘‘Love you? Good heavens, I hate you; that’s 
what I do. I wish you were dead ! ” 

She turned away with the words, and rushed 
hastily across the wretched street, forgetting, in her 


230 


, Eoyalized. 

fierce bitterness, even the carriage and its stately oc- 
cupant stopping at her very door. What did it mat- 
ter? What were^all the fine carriages and elegant 
gentlemen in the world to her with that brute for 
lier father? Such things could never figure in her 
world. She would never be any thing but a drunk- 
ard’s girl. 

Mr. Le Grand had watched this by-play with a 
sinking heart. But this time he most fervently 
wished that he had never undertaken such a pursuit 
as this. He had been foolish, at his age, to allow liim- 
self to be led into it. Where on earth was the use ? 
Its only result must be to harrow up his feelings un- 
necessarily; only to start into life again old griefs 
that had gnawed at his heart until they had dropped 
into the grave of the past. He was sitting in rigid 
silence now. He seemed to have lost all power 
of speech or motion. Twice he made an effort to bid 
the coachman drive on, but each time his voice failed 
him. Evidently he must watch this scene out. That 
wretched object — his son-in-law, he said to himself 
bitterly — had stopped a moment and stood looking 
after the girl with the same leering smile. He 
roused himself at length and made an attempt to 
stagger on, but suddenly lost his balance and fell 
heavily to the pavement, rolling over and over until 
his head lay in the gutter. There was a sudden rude 
shout at this, and in a moment the unfortunate creat- 
ure was surrounded by a dirty host of ragged street 
gamins of all ages, laughing, screaming, hooting, and 
jeering about him, it seemed to Mr. Le Grand’s 
horror-stricken but fascinated gaze, like so many 
young demons. 


A Wise Son. 


231 


He felt a blind desire to rnsli out upon them and 
fire his pistol right and left among them, remember- 
ing painfully that the man over whom they were 
making merry was his daughter’s husband. 

But there was no need of his interference. Aid 
more powerful than his was coming to that fallen 
creature. There was a sudden lull among the revel- 
ers, an eager cry of ‘‘ Gilmore’s coming ! Run for 
your lives ! ” and then they scattered like so many 
startled insects, screaming with coarse laughter as they 
darted away. 

A quick, strong step sounded upon the pavement, 
and Mr. Le Grand’s eager eyes beheld, that for which 
he was searching — a young fellow, tall and broad- 
shouldered, with an erect head and Hashing eyes. 
That much he could distinguish in the dusky light. 
He leaned forward with breathless interest. What 
could the only son of such a father possibly be ? The 
next moment he knew. The tall boy was down upon 
his knees in an instant, and had lifted the heavy head 
from its foul resting-place. 

You must get up, father,’^ he said commandingly. 
The man struck at him, swore a little, and struggled 
blindly ; but it was of no use. In a few moments he 
was on his feet and the strong arm of his son had 
guided him inside the door of the wretched building. 

“ One boy in the nineteenth century who remem- 
bers the fifth commandment,” said Mr. Le Grand, his 
heart beating with a strong, new happiness as he saw 
the door close behind them. 


232 


Eoyalized. 


XYII. 

NOT OURSELVES. 

“ Such welcome and unwelcome things at once ’tis hard to 
reconcile.” 

“ CuESES on you ! ” muttered the father of that 
hoy, as, having with great difficulty guided him up 
three flights of stairs, he tumbled him upon his bed 
with more haste than ceremony. 

He was no perfect character, this strong boy. He 
was most emphatically human. To tell the truth, 
snch scenes as these — and their name had thus far 
been Legion — were becoming more and more exasper- 
ating to Grand every day of his life. More and more 
his soul revolted against them. More and more he 
felt his patience giving way. Where was the need 
of a man's degrading himself to this extent ? The 
strong-willed boy could not comprehend such consum- 
mate weakness. He only knew of its existence, de- 
ploring it none the less because this man was his fa- 
ther. Evidently there was no help for it. All that 
could be done had been done, he assured himself this 
evening as he closed the door of the tiny, dark, ill- 
ventilated room with a vigorous slam. It was useless 
to struggle with an inflrmity of this kind. It must 
be endured and borne with to the bitter end. 

He took a turn pr two across the room, and, stop- 
ping at the window, stood for a moment staring 


Not Ourselves. 


233 


gloomily out into the dimly-lighted street. That 
handsome carriage was there yet. He remembered 
just glancing at it as he was lifting his father from 
the gutter. lie remembered also the coachman’s con- 
temptuous smile as he did so. Ah, well, what of it ? 
One must get used to contemptuous smiles, and surely 
if any one ought to be used to them by this time it 
was Grand Gilmore. He had always met them ; he 
would always meet them, all his life, no doubt. There 
was no earthly reason that they should prick and hurt 
him thus. Surely he had no pride, he told himself 
bitterly. A fellow bound for life to a living disgrace 
like this, a disgrace which flaunted itself daily in the 
face and eyes of all who knew him or ever would 
know him ; a disgrace* from which there was no pos- 
sible escape ; a disgrace which must be shouldered 
and borne to the very gates of the grave ; aye, and 
even the grave could not hide it — it would cast its 
disgusting shadow back upon this only son through 
all time ! 

“ His father was a common drunkard,” people 
would always say in whispers, .and look askance at 
him. No matter what his brave young energies 
might bring him to — no eminence to which he might 
rise could possibly overtop this cruel shadow. The 
sins of the fathers would be visited upon the children 
unto the third and fourth generation. It was just, 
since God had willed it so ; but it was hard. It was 
hard ! Hard to bear at all, but hard beyond telling 
to bear patiently. Why on earth did that carriage 
keep standing there? Would it never go? Why 
did people who rode in such carriages as that want to 
come poking their way into tilth and pollution ? He 


234 : 


Royalized. 


wished it would move on. The siglit of it irritated 
liiin, and he did not need the addition of a featlier's 
weight to his burden to-night. 

What was that ? A knock ? It sounded like one. 
Soinebodj was fumbling in the passage, perhaps, for 
the door. Grand opened it reluctantly. He had no 
wish for visitors to-night. Perhaps it was only the 
fourth story lodger groping about to find the stair- 
case. The remnant of daylight coming feebly in at 
the one window of Grand’s little apartment streamed 
out into the passage and revealed a very tall, dark fig- 
ure with something like a silvery halo about the 
head. ‘ • 

“ This is Grand Gilmore, is it not ? ” asked a deep, 
rich voice, and a hand was held out to the boy in 
the door- way. Grand bowed, and accepted tlie prof- 
fered hand somewhat stiffly. 

Some gentleman, no doubt, whose heart had been 
moved by the pitiful spectacle which the street below 
had just witnessed ; a minister, probably, or some 
temperance reformer, come to make an appeal to the 
senseless object in there on the bed, or, more needless 
still, to warn the son against falling into the father’s 
footsteps. Grand had no sympathy with or desire 
for this sort of thing to-night. He felt a sort of 
savage inclination to close the door in the gentleman’s 
face. 

I am Grand Gilmore,” he said shortly, in his most 
forbidding voice. He positively would not invite tlie 
man in. His interference was well meant, no doubt, 
but it certainly was not acceptable. The visitor, how- 
ever, did not wait for an invitation. He stepped in 
without it. 


Not Ourselves. 


235 


I have some business with you, Master Gilmore,” 
he said, smiling conlidently as he sat down. 

Business ? Then it was not to be a temperance ar- 
gument, after all. Well, if any one had business here 
he was perfectly welcome, though it must be of the 
most unpleasant character, unless — ! A flash of sud- 
den hope blazed up in his eyes. If it were possible ! 

“ Birdie ! ” he almost screamed in his eagerness. 
“ Have you come to bring me news of my sister ? ” 

It was too dark for Grand to see the conscious smile 
about the flue lips, and his heart sank again like lead. 

‘‘Would it be possible for you to get. a light?” 
said the visitor quietly. “ I would like to look at you, 
Master Gilmore.” 

Grand lighted the lamp promptly, and turned it up 
to its fullest capacity. There was something decid- 
edly curious about this. 

And thus the two confronted each other, the eyes 
of the one filled witli mute surprise, the eyes of the 
other flashing with a sort of proud admiration ; for 
this boy, in his rough, soiled working clothes, with 
his grimy hands and swarthy face, was a grandson of 
whom any man living might be proud. Mr. Le 
Grand’s thoughts flew swiftly back to the memory of 
Master Whitney as he had looked last upon him, and 
his heart swelled at the contrast. Le Grand, with his 
dwarfed body and pale face, his dull intellect and evil 
tendencies, had long been a chafing sore to his pride. 
This tall, straight-limbed, honest-eyed youth was as 
leaves of healing. He looked at him long and search- 
ingly, running his eyes over him from head to foot, 
and taking in the minutest, details of his dress, even, 


236 


Royalized. 


from the soiled collar to the well-worn boots. Grand 
grew a trifle restless under this severe scrutiny. It 
was not agreeable. Not that he was afraid to look the 
man in the face ; he might stand staring at him all 
night, for all Grand Gilmore’s eyes would flinch or his 
cheeks color. There was no reason why he should 
not be equal to it. There was nothing in his life of 
which he was ashamed — nothing, indeed, but the 
ever-present fact that he was a drunkard’s son. He 
meant to do his part in the battle of life notwith- 
standing this, and he had as good a right, perhaps, to 
look the world in the face as many boys whose fathers 
were not drunkards. At all events, he intended to 
keep his own life clean and open to the view of his 
fellow-men. Still, this intense scrutinizing from the 
well-dressed stranger was not agreeable. It made 
him painfully conscious of unwashed hands and tousled 
hair. He was looking a little rougher than usual to- 
night. The scene with his father had put all thoughts 
of personal improvements out of his head. This se- 
vere examination was bringing them back most forc- 
ibly, and besides it was growing somewhat ridiculous 
— two people standing face to face in the middle of 
the room staring at each other. The absurdity of 
the situation grew upon him every moment. Grand’s 
sense of the ridiculous had not grown an atom less 
with the hard years that bore the shadow of baby’s 
little grave upon their rough shapes. 

‘‘ Will you sit down, sir?” he said at length, feel- 
ing morally certain that if they were to continue 
gazing at each other in this stupid way much longer 
he should explode with laughter. Mr. Le Grand 
caught the involuntary twitch about the lips and the 


Not Ourselves. 237 

sparkle in the bright dark eyes, and smiled blandly as 
he resumed his seat. 

“I suppose this looks to you like singular conduct,” 
he said. “ Have you no idea who I am ? ” 

“ None, sir. How should I asked Grand in as- 
tonishment. 

“ How, indeed, when you are looking at me for the 
first time in your life. My boy, I am most happy to 
inform you that I have the honor to be your grand- 
father.” 

“ My grandfather ! That is impossible, sir. My 
grandfather died years and years ago, when my fa- 
ther was the merest boy ; you are mistaken in the 
person you are talking to, I guess.” 

The gentleman shook his head decidedly. “ I am 
not mistaken,” he said with clear emphasis, still smil- 
ing radiantly. 

Grand looked at him in mute perplexity. Was he 
crazy, or, dreadful thought ! had this man, too, despite 
his fine speech and manners, been putting an enemy 
in his mouth which had stolen away his brains ? 
E-eally, if this was the case, it was past endurance. 

“ Are you quite sure that you know what you are 
talking about ? ” he asked, with manifest irritation. 

‘‘ Quite sure. I suppose you are aware that your 
mother’s father did not die years and years ago.” 

Ah, yes. He was aware of it. It was perfectly 
clear now. The man was neither crazy nor intoxi- 
cated. But what on earth had brought him here? 
Grand stared at him now in good earnest, and forgot 
the ludicrous side of it ; forgot even ordinary polite- 
ness in his overwhelming astonishment. His motli- 
er’s father, indeed ! He wondered that he had not 


238 


Eoyalized. 


thought of it before. He had by no means forgotten 
the existence of such a person, but it had never oc- 
curred to him that a day would come when he should 
stand face to face with that person, afid above all un- 
der the same roof which held his miserable, drunken 
father. In those first moments Grand was conscious 
of nothing save a vague curiosity. What on earth 
had brought the man liere ? 

“Well, sir,” said Mr. Le Grand at length, a little 
annoyed by this long silence, for the boy’s lips 
seemed actually glued together, “have you no wel- 
come for me? or has not your intellect yet grasped 
the fact that I am your mother’s father, and there- 
fore your grandfather ? ” 

“Yes,” said Grand gravely. “I understand it. I 
am happy to make your acquaintance, sir.” 

“ Indeed ? You are ? Your manner does not indi- 
cate pleasure. It is but natural, I suppose, that you 
should cherish some degree of resentment against me ; 
but you may rest assured, my boy, that had I known 
you sooner I should not have neglected you all these 
years.” 

“Pardon me, sir,” said Grand abruptly, his eyes 
hashing and his voice trembling a little in spite of 
his pfiorts to keep it steady. “ You knew my moth- 
er, I suppose.” 

The gentleman’s face darkened. He lifted his hand 
with an impatient gesture. 

“ I did not come here to discuss that matter with 
you,” he said hastily. “ This much I will say, how- 
ever, regarding it: I deeply regret my attitude to- 
ward your mother. Had my pride been less and my 
wisdom greater, I would have pursued a different 


Not Ourselves. 


239 


course. But it is too late to alter that now. The 
things we do, we do, and, alas ! there is no undoing. 
All that is left to us when we see our mistake is to 
make the best of what remains. It is with that view 
that I have come here to-night.” 

Grand hesitated. He hardly knew what to say 
ITe was amazed at his own complacency. All the 
angry, resentful feelings which he had nursed in liis 
heart against this man, who had so cruelly added to 
his mother’s weight of griefs, seemed, at sight of 
him, to have fled to the winds. 

He did not understand it. Was it cowardice, or 
was this rough life of his crushing all the spirit out 
of him? He thought not, and yet he could And no 
word of condemnation for this destroyer of his moth- 
er’s peace. 

Indeed, |here was bounding through his pulses at 
this moment something which was strangely like a 
newly awakened affection, as he gazed upon the sil- 
ver-crowned face of his mother’s father. 

“ How did you find us, sir ? ” he asked at length, 
feeling called upon to say something, and cautious as 
to any word which might lead to unpleasant themes. 
Mr. Le Grand looked at him thoughtfully. It was 
quite probable that he was ignorant of Birdie’s 
whereabouts, as Mrs. Blake’s story had seemed to in- 
dicate. It might be, for some reason, better that he 
should not bo informed on tliat subject at present. 
At least, he would not speak of Birdie in this con- 
nection. 

“ I made thorough investigations, and was directed 
at last by a mutual acquaintance,” he said. Adding 
hastily, “ How long have you been living in such a 


240 


HoYALIZED. 


hole as this? Excuse me, but it seems a hard spot for 
my grandchildren to grow up in.” 

“We have lived in the city for nearly a year,” 
said Grand evasively, not caring to mention the 
fact that, compared with his former quarters, these 
were quite respectable. 

“ Indeed ! And how do you support yourself, if I 
may take the liberty of asking ? ” 

Grand’s eyes twinkled. The absurdity of this 
man’s grandson doing the things which he had been 
compelled to do tliis past year came over him forcibly. 

“ At present 1 am in the grocery business,” he 
said, his lips twitching a little. 

“ I should not consider a grocery the proper place 
for you,” said Mr. Le Grand, with a shrug of the 
shoulders. 

“ Why not, sir ? ” 

“ Why, there are often temptations connected with 
that sort of business which I need not mention. It is 
not well for a young man to run into danger.” 

“ Indeed ! May I ask what position a young man 
is to lind where he is out of the way of temptation of 
this kind ? ” 

“Well, it is not easy; still, some occupations pre- 
sent more opportunities to err than others.” 

“ Not in these days, sir, when rum is flowing down 
our streets like a river. There’s only one course for 
the most of us.” 

“ And that is — ? ” 

“ Firm resistance, sir. Do you not believe such a 
thing to be possible ? ” 

“To many, yes ; but where the taste is inherited— 
I beg your pardon, my boy, but I must speak freely— 


Not Oukselves. 241 

where the taste is inherited one cannot be too cau- 
tions.” 

Grand’s lip curled. He sprang to his feet, clinch- 
ing his hands unconsciously. 

And you think I have inherited the taste ! ” he 
. exclaimed. 

“ Why, I am sure I hope not,” said Mr. Le Grand 
hastily ; ‘‘ but, you will excuse my candor, it seems 
the most natural thing in the world that you should. 
Not that I imagine it has yet developed itself ; it 
requires little discrimination to perceive that you 
have thus far escaped it and its attendant gross evils. 
What I most earnestly desire is to see you removed 
from temptation. It is impossible that I should not 
feel a great concern about you. If I have not mani- 
fested it hitherto it is because I have not been fully 
awake to the position of things. I am eager now to 
make amends for the past.” 

“ And how do you propose to do it, sir ? ” asked 
Grand ironically. 

“ I propose to give you the opportunity to make 
yourself fully worthy the name ^ou bear — Le Grand.” 

Grand’s lip curled again. 

“ Forgetting,” he said in a surprised voice, “ that 
that proud name is in my case inseparably linked to 
the obnoxious one of Gilmore, and that I cannot 
divest myself of the latter name — that it will stick 
to me with all its reproach — stick to me till I die ? 
You propose to forget this, sir ? ” 

“ As far as it is possible, I do ! Listen now to 
what I have to say. I wish to do the proper thing 
by my grandchildren. It remains for them to say 
whether or not they will accept the goods the gods 
16 , 


24:2 


Koyalized. 


bestow. Will you come away from this wretched 
spot forever, you and your sister? If you will, I am 
ready to give you every advantage which wealth can 
bestow. You know what that means ; all it includes. 
The chance is before you. Will you come ? ” 

The color had gone out of Grand’s face. His eyes 
shone like stars. They reminded his grandfather at 
this moment of Birdie’s eyes, they were so full of 
gladness. Evidently the gates which he had opened 
were golden ones. Surely, the tired feet of this over- 
weighted boy could not resist to pass through them 
into paradise. 

“Will you come?” he asked, smiling assuredly. 
The repetition of this matter-of-fact question which 
must be answered broke the spell. 

The light shone and was spent. Grand arose to 
his feet composedly, and held out his hand to his 
grandfather in a frank, straightforward way. 

“ I thank you, sir, from the bottom of my heart,” 
he said simply. 

“ And you will come ? ” 

“ Does your invitation include my father ? ” asked 
Grand, with grave eyes. 

“ Ho, by heavens ! ” cried the gentjeman, drawing 
hasl^ily back with flashing eyes. “ Do you think I 
would take to my household a beastly slave like that ? ” 

“ I did not suppose so, sir. I only asked to be 
sure.” 

“ Well, be sure, then; very sure. Ho, young man, 
if you come with me you bid a long farewell to your 
father. Understand that fully. He has wrought 
me evil sufficient. How let him beware how he 
crosses my path.” 


Not Ourselves. 


243 


Grand returned to liis seat with a very quiet face. 
All the sunshine had faded out of it. Mr. Le Grand 
beheld the change with great annoyance. Could it 
be the boy was such a fool ? W ould he let that de- 
basing object he called father stand between him and 
his life interest ? 

‘‘ It is impossible ! ” he burst forth involuntarily. 

“What, sir?” 

“ That you will throw away such a chance as this 
for a worthless drunkard.” 

“ That worthless drunkard, sir, is my father.” 

“ Well, what of it ? That is your misfortune ; you 
need not make it your ruin.” 

“ I do not intend to, sir.” 

“ Ah, then you are sensible, after all ; you will leave 
him to his fate.” 

“ I couldn’t do that ; he would die in the streets in 
six months.” 

“Let him die, then. It would be tlie most fort- 
unate thing that could happen to you.” 

“ But not to him, sir,” said Grand quietly. 

“ I’m not so sure of that. There cannot be a much 
worse hell than a drunkard’s life. But there’s little 
danger of his dying. Alcohol preserves its victims 
beyond all expectation. At ail events, you are per- 
fectly justified in leaving him to shift for himself. 
You have no duty toward him. Such a man as that 
forfeits all right to the duty of his children. Your 
business now is to look out for yourself and your 
sister. For that creature you need hav^e no regard, as 
you have no obligation.” 

“ Fortunately for him, I cannot see it in that 
light,” said Grand. “I am very much obliged to 


244: Ruyalized. 

you, sir. Your offer is most kind. I shall never 
forget it.” 

“ But you will not accept it ? ” 

‘‘ I cannot accept it, sir.” 

Mr. Le Grand did not answer. A silence fell be- 
tween them. They seemed to have no more to say 
to each other. Through the broad crack in the 
door of the adjoining room came the heavy, sonorous 
breathing of the drunken sleeper. The sound of it 
strengthened Grand’s purpose. While that man 
breathed he could know no other life tlian this. 
Cost what it might, he would cling to his duty to the 
bitter end. 

The silence was broken all too quickly by a noisy, 
racing step on the stairs. The door was thrown 
abruptly open, and- in bounded Belle with crimson 
cheeks. 

“ Grand, that carriage is — ” she stopped short as 
her eyes caught sight of the elegant stranger who sat 
upon one of the rude chairs, his fine head bowed 
upon his gold-headed cane. 

“ Belle, this is Grandfather Le Grand,” said her 
brother quietly, rising as he spoke and leading her 
toward the -gentleman. 

Belle gave a little gasp of astonishment as slie 
placed her hand eagerly in his. Mr. Le Grand bowed 
gravely and released her as speedily as possible, lie 
could not overcome his repugnance to her. Perhaps 
it was because her face was so like Hugh Gilmore’s 
had been when it had first loomed, cloudlike, over 
his daughter’s fair sky. The power of speech did 
not return to Belle with its usual readiness. She 
W'as devoured with amazement and curiosity, but 


4 


Not Ourselves. 


245 


she dared ■ not ask a question, and so the embar- 
rassed silence continued. Mr. Le Grand broke it 
abruptly. 

“ And this is your final decision,” he said, making 
a motion as if to rise. 

‘Mt is. To accept your kindness at present would 
be impossible.” 

“ Are you sure you fully understand what you are 
throwing away ? Have you counted the cost ? ” 

‘‘ It is unnecessary for me to do so, since I have no 
choice in the matter. There is but one course open 
to me. I must look after my father as long as he 
lives.” 

Mr. Le Grand’s fierce wrath blazed forth at this. 
Must he see another brave young life wrecked upon 
the altar of this worthless creature ? 

You are an idiot, boy!” he cried. ‘‘You have 
not the smallest idea of the sacrifice you are mak- 
ing.” 

Belle found her tongue at this. 

“ What is he sacrificing ? ” she asked eagerly. 

Mr. Le Grand looked at her and caught at a new 
hope. The weaker nature might control tlie 
stronger. He would try diplomacy. 

“ He is sacrificing every thing in life to a fanatic- 
al notion,” he said grimly. 

“ What notion ? Grand, what is it ? Tell me.” 

“ Grandfather has very kindly offered to take us 
home with him,” said her brother shortly, arming 
himself for the battle which he knew to be pend- 
ing. 

“ And you refuse to go ! ” screamed Belle. 

“ I refuse to go.” 


2i6 


HOYALIZED. 


“ Well, stay, then, but you don’t keep me. Grand- 
father, I will only be too glad to go.” 

‘‘And leave your father to perish in tlie streets? 
Would you do that? ” 

“ jN^ot the least danger of his perishing. He’ll live 
to be a hundred. I’d slied no tears if he perished 
to-inoiTow. It would be a good riddance to us. 
Will you take me, grandfather? ” 

“ If your brother will go, yes. If not, no. I will 
not separate you.” 

“ And you will not take me without Grand ? ” 

“ JSTo ; decidedly, no.” 

Belle turned to her brother in a rage. 

“ Grand Gilmore, you shall go ! If you don’t 
you’re the meanest boy living.” 

Grand leaned forward, looking at her earnestly. 
He was very pale, but there was a look of wonderful 
power in liis face. 

“Belle,” he said quietly, “have you forgotten 
mother? ” 

“ What has that to do with your going or stay- 
ing ? ” asked the girl siillenly. ‘‘ I’m sure if she was 
alive she’d be the first one to urge you to go.” 

“ The last promise I ever made my mother,” said 
Grand, speaking with great effort, “ was that I would 
cling to father as long as he lived, and I’ll not break 
my promise ; so help me God 1 ” 

Something in the low, solemnly-uttered words 
thrilled even Belle. She could find no speech or 
language with which to reproach him. A choking 
sob arose in her throat, and her blue eyes were 
drowned in sudden tears. 

Mr. Le Grand arCse quietly. In spite of himself 


XoT Ourselves. 


247 


the moral lieroism of this boy toiiclied his heart as 
nothing liad done for years. In spite of himself he 
was at this moment far prouder of his grandson than 
of the greatest honor the world had ever cast at his 
feet. 

He grasped the boy’s hand and wrung it ; then, 
without even a parting glance at Belle, he stepped 
hastily out into the dimly lighted corridor and dis- 
appeared as he had come, unceremoniously. 


248 


Eoyalized. 


XYIII. 

APEIL DAYS. 

“ Think that to-day shall never dawn again.” 

The glory of a Southern spring ! What pen can 
picture, what tongue describe it ? 

Honor, witli her artist lieart on fire, was striving 
vainly to put lier delight in words, but none would 
come, only little gasps of joy wdiich sent rose flushes 
into her brown cheeks and diamonds into her eyes. It 
w’as just as well for her that she was slow of speech 
this morning, for had she been gifted with the 
tongue of an angel Le Grand would not have appre- 
ciated it — Le Grand, who lounged at her side in the 
pretty basket phaeton, the reins held loosely in his 
hands, his hat set well to one side of liis head, and a 
cigar between his lips. Le Grand’s sordid soul took 
in nothing but the sparkling face of his companion ; 
that, being a Southerner, he could appreciate. 

“ I say. Honor, you just missed being a beauty,” 
he remarked, balancing his cigar between his fingers 
and allowing the smoke to curl gracefully into her 
eyes as he surveyed her. 

“ If it hadn’t been for your pug nose and your 
brown skin I don’t know but you’d be quite re- 
spectable.” 

Honor turned aside impatiently. It was not un- 
pleasant to know that she was looking well. One 


Apkil Days. 


249 


naturally desires to look well, especially when all the 
world is beautiful, but it was a little harsh to be 
called back to practical subjects in this way, and then 
Le Grand’s compliment was so very one-sided. 

But what did it matter if she had a pug nose and 
a brown skin? What were pug noses and brown 
skins with the radiancy of this glory settling over her 
like a charm ? 

All the winter long she had been wrapped in a 
sort of vague dream, wondering, when she got up and 
looked into golden skies through leaves of glossy 
green, if it were really a winter day upon which she 
was gazing, or whether the night had been six months 
long and she had risen from blight to bloom with her 
awakening. It was hard to believe that anywhere in 
the universe snows were falling over barren hillsides 
and leafless trees. It was a strange, new world; 
a lovely, bewildering, enchanting world to the 
Northern girl ; a world in which to lie and gaze 
with dreamful eyes and lazy thoughts. Ah, lazy, in- 
deed ! What would Aunt Boxy say to such listless, 
indolent ways as these which she had contracted 
under the subtle influences of these balmy airs and 
faint, sweet odors? There were days and days in 
which Honor had no ambition, no purpose but to 
sit with folded hands and listen, and dream, and be 
alive. Simple existence was blessed, especially in 
these balmy spring days, with rare perfume of orange 
blossoms making the air heavy and stealing away the 
senses. One forgot to be in earnest, forgot even to 
be happy, forgot every thing save the one engross- 
ing: fact that the world was fair. 

Le Grand, do stop a moment,” she said suddenly. 


250 


Eoyalized. 


laying lier liand on liis. “ See wliat miles and miles 
of living green! I never comprehended that living 
green ’ before. We have nothing like this in the 
North. Even our fullest June days can never show 
up such gorgeous richness of coloring as this. And see, 
yonder, where the sunlight drips through the great 
oaks and brings out the brilliancy of those dogwood 
blossoms that dash against the vivid green like great 
handfuls of snow. Was there ever any thing like it 
in perfectness? Eeally, I must make a picture of 
this spot some day.” 

“Make a picture of fiddlesticks!” yawned Le 
Grand, checking his horse reluctantly. “ Honor, 
you’re a little more endurable than most girls, but 
you’re something of a goose. I see nothing here 
worth stopping for; nothing but what I’ve seen all 
my life.” 

“ But I haven’t seen it all my life,” said Honor 
impatiently. “ I never saw any thing like this be- 
fore. It’s a perfect paradise.” 

“ Nonsense ! Don’t talk about a paradise in these 
hard times when every body has to dig and scratch 
for a living. The South used to be a paradise, I dare 
say, in the old slavery days, when money rolled in 
upon folks without their bothering their heads as to 
how it came. Those must have been free and easy 
times ; but now, with every body scrambling for 
himself, and niggers strutting about with their hands 
in their pockets, the South is as poor a spot as you 
can find. There, now, don’t begin an argument on 
tliat threadbare subject, I beseech you. ^ You’re en- 
tirely welcome to your opinion about the interesting 
nigger, only please to keep it to yourself. By the 


Apeil Days. 


251 


way, Honor, we must hurry along or we shall be late 
to dinner, and the great mogul of all moguls is to 
make his dehut to-day. Maud will have no end of a 
row if we’re not starched up to the last degree and 
equal to the occasion.” 

“ AVhom are you talking about?” 

“ Why, haven’t you heard ? Where are your ears, 
girl ? There’s been nothing else talked about for the 
last six months but that everlasting fellow. I’m sure 
I’ve got his name down fine ; sick enough I am of it 
too ! ” 

“ But who is it ? ” asked Honor. “ I didn’t know 
any one was expected.” 

“ You must have been in a trance, then, not to have 
lieard. This fellow is Maud’s specialty. He goes 
under the honorable name of Avery — Dick Avery.” 

‘‘ Dick ! Beally, I do not believe Maud Whitney 
has any choice acquaintance named Dick.” 

“ She has, though ; a mighty choice one, as you’ll 
see, I reckon.” 

‘‘ And she calls him Dick ? ” 

“ call him Dick ! You bet your sweet life she 
don’t. She calls him Mr. Avery. Sbe doesn’t even 
presume to say Bichard. Hothing makes her so mad 
as to hear him dubbed Dick.” 

‘‘ And nothing gives her brother more pleasure 
than to offend her,” said Honor gravely. 

“You’re just right there; nothing does. Teasing 
Maud is all the pastime I have.” 

“And 3mu consider such pastime a pursuit worthy 
the energies of a young gentleman ? ” 

“ O, hold on, now, Honor ; don’t get on your stilts. 
I don’t pretend to be any of your spoons. Ho Miss 


lioYALIZKD. 


Nancy about me. Maud gives lierself quite too many 
airs. She needs taking down. It’s a sort of mission- 
ary work to do it. This liigh and mighty Dick of 
hers, I take it, is a goody-goody.” 

“ Indeed ! Is he a Southerner ? ” 

“ Well, no, I rather think not. Maud fell in with 
him at Saratoga last summer, I believe. He origin- 
ates from New York. His father is rich as a Jew, 
you know, and Sir Richard flings the dollars round 
at his own sweet will. Maud’s clear gone. She’ll 
make a desperate flght for him. I’m going to horrify 
her bv calling him Dick to his face first thing. See 
if I don’t!” 

“ I hope, for your own credit, you will do nothing 
of the kind,” said Honor. What do you suppose 
he would think of you ? What could he think but 
that you were crazy or an idiot ? ” 

“ And what in thunder do you suppose I care 
what he thinks ? It’s Maud that’s interested in him, 
not I. Thank goodness I’m not a girl ! See here ; 
how about crossing this old shack of a bridge ? Looks 
pretty shaky now, don’t it ? Come, Nix, old fellow, 
look to your heels.” 

The horse stopped short and cast a doubtful glance 
at the shackly structure over which he w^as expected 
to convey his precious freight in safety, shied a little, 
and turned back his ears. Honor grasped the reins 
involuntarily. 

“ Do not attempt such a foolhardy thing, Le 
Grand,” she said sternly. You know the bridge is 
unsafe.” 

^‘Nonsense! As if a Southern bridge was ever 
safe. I’ve driven over worse places than this, heaps 


April Days. 


253 


of times, and I’m not killed yet ; more’s tlie pity, I 
s’pose you think. Get along, Nix ! ” 

He struck the horse as he spoke, and the spirited 
little animal gave u sudden plunge forward. There 
was a cracking, crushing sound. The young riders 
felt themselves pitched violently forward as the rotten 
planks gave way beneath them, and then, they knew 
not how, they were dashed roughly over upon the ru- 
ined bridge, while the horse, with a sudden leap, 
cleared himself from the wreck and rushed blindly 
on, dragging the pony carriage, or what remained of 
it, after him. Le Grand and Honor, too dazed by 
the suddenness of the catastrophe to speak or think, 
clung to the broken timbers, gazing at each other 
helplessly. They were neither of them hurt, but 
both horribly frightened. Le Grand’s face was white 
as marble. 

“ Lucky the water is low,” he muttered at length, 
picking himself up and crawling on his hands and 
knees to the road-side, leaving Honor either to fol- 
low him or remain where she was, as she chose. With 
considerable difficulty she struggled out to safety, as 
forlorn a specimen of young ladyhood, with her drab- 
bled garments and disheveled hair, as could well be 
imagined. Le Grand, at sight of her, threw himself 
upon the ground in spasms of laughter. 

“ I declare. Honor,” lie gasped, “ you do look ex- 
actly like a drowned rat. What a pity Maud had not 
been of the party when w'e went over! You might 
have immortalized yourself by painting her as she 
appeared after the wreck. Her face would have pre- 
sented a most admirable illustration of the inferno. 
I say, Honor, where’s your hat ? ” 


254 


Royalized. 


I don’t know,” said Honor crossly ; neither do 
I care since I have escaped with my life, I am thank- 
ful to say. I do not see the joke of this. It is the 
greatest possible wonder that our necks were not 
broken.” 

Le Grand’s only reply to this was another scream 
of laughter. Honor lost all patience at this. 

“You act like an idiot,” she said angrily. “Is it 
notliing that the carriage is destroyed and the horse 
also, it may be ; nothing but an excellent joke ? O, 
well, fools do laugh at their own folly, I’ve heard.” 

Le Grand continued to laugh, while Honor straight- 
ened herself up as best she could, smoothing her hair 
with her hands, and shaking her muddy skirts and 
re-adjusting her soiled and drabbled ribbons. Having 
completed these arrangements she sat down upon a 
stump to await developments. 

“ Well,” said Le Grand at length, finding his mirth 
not at all contagious, “ have you any idea how we are 
to get home ? ” 

“Walk, I suppose,” said Honor, sniffing a spray 
of yellow jasmine with an air of supreme indif- 
ference. 

“Walk three miles? You bet I don’t! Couldn’t 
if I tried. Why, even in my best days I’m not equal 
to such a tramp, and surely not now, after splitting 
my sides as I’ve been doing. I’m as weak as a rag. 
It’s a serious matter. Honor.” 

“ O no, it isn’t,” said Honor, with curling lip. 
“ It is only an excellent joke ; the funniest .thing that 
ever happened.” 

“ O, come, now, don’t be a crank ; tell me what we 
shall do.” 


April Days. 


255 


I shall walk home,” said Honor rising. You 
can stay here and enjoy the recollection of this highly 
amusing affair. It may he that in the course of a day 
or two i^ix will come round this way and fetch you 
home.” 

Le Grand did not reply to this bit of sarcasm. His 
eye was caught at the moment by something in the 
distance. 

“ Sure’s the world, there’s some one coming,” he said 
joyfully. “ What a stroke of luck! Why, we might 
have sat here in the pine woods all day before we met 
a soul 1 I wonder who the fellow is. No cracker 
about him, I reckon. Sits his horse like a prince, and, 
see 1 he’s leading another horse. Can it be he’s caught 
Nix ? Sure’s the world, I believe so 1 ” 

The horseman advanced rapidly. Yes, it was cer- 
tainly Nix he was leading — Nix, with his broken 
harness hanging loosely about him, and a general as- 
pect of meekness and docility. Evidently he had 
forgotten all about his mad caper and the wreck of 
the pony carriage. 

The gentleman oh the other horse, who held Nix’s 
bridle, was something to look at. Even Le Grand 
unconsciously lifted his hat in reply to his salute. 
There was something like a smile under the heavy 
mustache, and a very evident twinkle in the brown 
eyes, as he accosted them. 

“ Is this your property which I have possession 
of?” he asked, indicating Nix with a bend of his 
head. 

I should say it was,” said Le Grand, advancing to 
stroke the pony’s velvety nose. “ Where did you 
find him ? ” 


256 


Eoyalized. 


Half a mile below here, standing by a stump 
nibbling leaves as coolly as if li^ was at his own 
manger.” 

‘‘ And the carriage ? ” 

“Well, that was not in quite so good a condition. 
Indeed, I regret to say, it is in a very bad condition. 
I hope you were not hurt at all.” 

“ Ho, not even scratched,” said Le Grand, laughing 
again. 

“ Excuse me,” pursued the stranger, “ are you far 
from home?” 

“ About three miles. We live in Savannah.” 

“ Indeed ! But under the circumstances you will 
not object to waiting while I ride on and bring 
a carriage to take you home. One can afford to 
suffer a small inconvenience in view of the fact that 
things might have been worse, and besides this is a 
delightful spot to wait.” 

“ Hot for me, by thunder ! ” exclaimed Le Grand 
rudely. “Ho, sir, I don’t wait here an hour for a 
carriage ! I prefer to go on and fetch one for my 
sister, now that I’ve got Hix to carry me.” 

“It is entirely unnecessary that any one should 
bring a carriage for me,” said Honor quietly. “ I am 
fully able to walk, and intend to do so.” 

“ Three miles ? ” asked the stranger doubtingly. 

“Certainly. I have walked six many a time at 
home.” 

“ In the city, yes — one might walk miles over pave- 
ments without realizing it; but it is somewhat differ- 
ent, I fear you would find, plowing through this 
sand.” 

“Can’t do it. Honor,” said Le Grand, vaulting 


Apkil Days. 


257 


upon Nix’s back and seizing the bridle rein. “ Good- 
b.ye.’’ 

Nix stuck up his small ears and galloped away be- 
fore Honor could raise her voice to remonstrate. 

“Well,” said the stranger, looking into her eyes 
with a smile, “ nothing remains for us but to possess 
our souls in patience.” 

“For me nothing remains,” Honor said, very much 
annoyed at Le Grand’s want of tact and courtesy, 
“ but that must not detain you.” 

“It certainly will ‘detain me. Do you suppose I 
would leave you alone in the depths of this pine 
forest ? ” 

“I am not at all afraid,” said Honor hastily; “be- 
sides, I shall not wait. I shall walk on until I meet 
the carriage. I beg you not to think of stopping on 
my account.” 

For answer the young man dropped the bridle 
rein over his horse’s neck and dismounted. 

“ I have not the smallest idea of leaving you,” he 
said in a tone of quiet decision. “ If you prefer to 
walk on I will accompany you, but I could not think 
of permitting a young lady to pursue her way in soli- 
tude through the depths of this lonely forest.” 

“ It is very evident that you are a Northerner,” said 
Honor smiling. 


“ I am, indeed, but why should it be evident to a 
stranger? Are the races so distinctive as to display 
individuality in their persons, manners, or customs ? ” 
“Customs, yes. A Southerner recognizes no dan- 
ger in his native forest. To him it is the securest 
spot in the world.” 

The gentleman glanced about' him with a smile. 


17 


258 


Royalized. 


It is certainly very charming,” he said carelessly. 

‘‘Yes.” 

But the day had lost its charm to Honor. Her 
eyes and thoughts were all taken up with this 
stranger. It did not, certainly, appear the most dis- 
creet thing in the world to be wandering through 
the still, green depths of this forest with an entire 
stranger as her sole companion. They were miles 
away from any human habitation. She did not re- 
member to have passed even a negro’s hut on lier 
way hither. To say the least, it was scarcely a ju- 
dicious procedure, and yet she could not entertain a 
passing doubt of this young man. It was quite im- 
possible to do it. Truth was stamped upon every 
line and expression of his handsome, open face. It 
was a face to trust — a face to which a distressed child 
would instinctively turn for sympathy. Honor 
studied him intently a moment, as he stood before 
her, one arm thrown carelessly over his horse’s neck, 
and one lar^e white hand caressing its sleek brown 
ear, and arrived at this conclusion without delay. 

After that, having determined to accept the de- 
cision of her own heart, she forgot to be vexed at 
Le Grand. Surely, it was much pleasanter to wait 
with this sunny-faced, gentlemanly stranger than it 
could possibly have been to yawn through the weari- 
some minutes with Le Grand. She did not even feel 
in any very great haste to walk on. The woods were 
charming beyond description, now that she had found 
an appreciative companion. Nevertheless, she would 
not permit this stranger to perceive the favorable im- 
pression which he was making upon her. She started 
ahead, therefore, quite briskly, her companion follow- 


April Days. 


259 


ing with his hand upon his bridle rein. They had 
proceeded little more than half a mile when they 
met Le Grand returning in a little, dilapidated old 
vehicle, with a very ill-humored expression upon his 
face. He jerked Nix in shortly, as he met them, 
and turned round with such precipitate haste that he 
barely avoided another accident. 

“ Come now, in with you,” he said crossl}^ ; that 
is, if you’re willing to ride in such a caboose as this ; 
if not, you can walk. I wasn’t going home to be 
plied with questions and all that. So I stopped at 
the hrst house I struck. Are you going to get in, or 
not?” 

Honor turned and held out her hand to her at- 
tendant with a grateful smile. 

“You have been very kind, sir,” she said, as he as- 
sisted her into the little awkward wagon. 

The young man lifted his hat with a courteous 
good-morning, sprang into his saddle, and vanished 
speedily among the whispering pines. 

“I wonder who the mischief he is,” commented 
Le Grand. “ Did you find out his name. Honor ? ” 

“The grand old name of gentleman !” -said Honor 
with quiet emphasis, her eyes sparkling as they looked 
backward. 


260 


Royalized. 


XIX. 

SIR RICHARD. 

“ Man’s inhumanity to man 
Makes countless thousands mourn.” 

Maijd was pacing to and fro on the vine-shaded 
piazza in a state of flushed disturbance when they 
drove up to the door. She turned upon them a be- 
wildered, half-frightened stare. 

“ What on earth has happened to you now ? ” she 
asked petulantly. 

“ O, nothing at all,-’ growled Le Grand, throwing 
down the reins and climbing down from his perch 
somewhat awkwardly. “We just escaped breaking 
our necks, but that is a matter of no consequence, not 
worth mentioning.” 

“ Le Grand Whitney, have you smashed up my 
phaeton ! Answer me directly ! ” cried Maud in a 
fury. 

“ Yes, smashed it to smithereens for aught I know. 
I didn’t take the trouble to investigate. I’m going 
to send Sam after the remains.” 

“ O you good-for-nothing, hateful thing ! ” screamed 
Maud, stamping her foot, enraged ; “ I wish you had 
broken your neck.” 

“ O, I dare say you do. It’s like your gentle self 
to say so, but you see I didn’t.” 

“No, of course you didn’t. There’s no sucli good 


Sir Richard. 


2G1 


luck for us. I was beside myself, I think, when I con- 
sented to your taking that phaeton. I might have 
known that you would do all you could to ruin it. 
You are always doing something of this kind, you 
disgusting creature. A pretty figure you must have 
cut, driving through town in such an establishment 
as that ! I only hope no one recognized you.” 

“ O, but every body did, though. We met Judge 
Holbrook’s family, and the Atkinsons, and young 
Hammond, and I don’t know how many others. I 
tipped my hat to ’em all, and they smiled sweetly, 
just as if they were charmed at our appearance. I 
say, it was rich ; wasn’t it. Honor ? By the way, 
Maud, where’s Dick?” 

“Who?” 

“ Why, his high mightiness, Dick Avery. Hasn’t 
he put in an appearance yet ? ” 

Maud did not reply to this, but drew out her watch 
with an impatient frown. 

“ Late, is he ? ” pursued Le Grand with a provoking 
laugh. “ Pity, nOw, if he should forget us, wouldn’t it 
be ? Pm dying to make his acquaintance. Fixed up 
to kill, aint she now ? You look like a tragedy queen, 
Maud, you do really, all but your hair. You’ve got 
that just a notch too high. It sticks up exactly like 
a hay-stack. Just let me give it a yank, wont 
you ? ” 

‘ He made a sudden dash at the imposing structure 
which graced his sister's head, and in an instant the 
queen was shorn of her glory. The glossy mass of 
puffs and curls lay in a tangled pile upon the silken 
shoulders. Maud darted toward him blind with 
rage, but he danced away laughing uproariously. 


262 


Koya.lized. 


“ O, if you could only see yourself ! You can’t 
imagine liovv lovely you look ! 

“ ‘ Queen Rose, in the rosebud garden of girls, 

Come hither, the dances are done. 

In the gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls, 

Queen Lily and Rose in one. 

Shine out, little head, sunning over with curls 
To the flowers, and be their sun,” 

“ Wliat a pity, now, the ^ young lord lover ’ couldn’t 
have the tact to appear at once. I’m sure he could 
not resist such charms as these. Your face just now 
is certainly that of an angel, Maud, and fellows of 
Dick Avery’s stamp are sure to admire angels, you 
know. There is some one driving in, by jingo! 
Well, of all things!” He stopped short, forgetting 
his sister’s wrath, forgetting even the richness of the 
joke in a sudden wave of astonishment. 

‘‘ Of all things ! echoed Honor, for the erect young 
horseman who was dashing through the gate was no 
other than the gentlemanly stranger of the forest. 

“You will have to receive him. Honor,” said Maud, 
with a baleful glance at her brother. “ I will be 
down in a moment. Make any apology you can 
frame ; ” and she beat a speedy retreat, leaving Honor 
mistress of ceremonies, with no choice but to make 
the best of the situation. She did it in her own 
quiet, graceful fashion. Stepping down to meet the 
young man as he descended , she held out her hand 
with a smile. 

So this is Mr. Avery,” she said coolly. 

Le Grand dashed down the steps and seized his 
other hand. 

“ You’re mighty welcome! ” he exclaimed heartily 


Sm Eichard. 


263 


— lie was going to say “ old fellow,” but somehow 
the words would not come of themselves. It was not 
quite the thing to call Eichard Avery “ old fellow.” 
Alas ! it was not quite the thing to call him Dick. 

Mr. Avery looked from one to the other of the 
ill-conditioned but quite tamiliar pair in astonish- 
ment. 

Excuse me,” he said, glancing about him in 
some confusion ; have I made a mistake in the 
place ? ” 

“ Hot the smallest,” laughed Le Grand. “ This is 
the old Whitney place ; don’t you see the name on 
door-plate ? ” 

“ And 3mu are — ? ” 

Le Grand Whitney, and this young lady is my 
sister. Honor Leroy. My other sister, Maud Whit- 
ney, lias met with a serious accident which will de- 
tain her for a while.” 

‘^Walk in, Mr. ikvery,” interposed Honor hastily, 
checking Le Grand with a glance of displeasure. 

Miss Whitney will be down presently. Le Grand, 
be so good as to call a servant to take Mr. Avery’s 
horse.” 

Eeally, this is a charming surprise,” said the vis- 
itor, taking a seat in one of the rustic chairs under 
the thick vine leaves. ‘‘ I had doubts of ever seeing 
you again. Miss Leroy. By the way, how happens, it 
that we so entirely lost sight of each other when we 
were both tending in the same direction ? ” 

‘‘ Because we approached the same place by differ- 
ent routes,” laughed Honor. “ There are numberless 
ways out of the Southern pines. You chose the 
longest If you had told us where you were en route 


264 


Eoyalized. 


for it would have given us great pleasure to have con- 
ducted you ; but how should we know ? ” 

‘‘ How, indeed ! Miss Leroy, you are a JS'orth- 
erner ? ” 

a Why?” 

“Every thing about you indicates it. Moreover, 
you have Yankee blood in your veins. Do not ask 
me how I know it. I cannot tell you, only I have a 
firm conviction that it is so.” 

Honor smiled quietly. 

“ Suppose I should tell you that I was born under 
the shadow of the magnolias ? ” she said. 

“ All the same, I should continue to assert that you 
had Yankee blood in your veins. It speaks for itself. 
Ah, Miss Whitney, I am happy to see you. I hope 
you are quite well.” 

Miss Whitney bowed and held out her jeweled 
hand with her sweetest smile. Her hair had regained 
its elegant aspect, her face and manner their serenest 
composure. As to lier heart Honor was doubtful. 
The wrathful glance which she flashed upon Le Grand 
as he grinned at her through the vine leaves betrayed 
something like a lire unquencbed. 

Honor sighed as she repaired toiler room to arrange 
her dinner toilet. The world was so exceeding fair, 
what a pity that it should be made heavy wdth weary 
sounds by the evil passions of God’s fairest creatures ! 
All nature in harmony and human souls at strife ! 
These scenes of discord between Maud and Le Grand 
were of every-day occurrence. Honor had grown 
utterly weary of them. She longed intensely, often- 
times, for the peaceful calm of the old liome among 
the Northern hills. Even the grim monotony of the 


Sir Eichard. 


2G5 


long, cold winter she thought would be almost prefer- 
able to this constant warfare. She dressed hastily, 
taking pains, however, to make herself thoroughly 
presentable, for all unconsciously she had conceived 
a very high regard for the opinion of Maud’s visitor. 
His first impression of her must have been unfavor- 
able. Such a spectacle as she had presented in her 
disordered hair and dress he had probably not often 
been so unfortunate as to meet. Honor was the soul 
of neatness. It was pleasant to lay aside her mud- 
stained garments and robe herself in fine, clean, 
dainty ones. It was doubly so in view of the fact 
that the gentlemanly stranger must necessarily note 
the change in her appearance, and be pleased with it. 

Header, this was no case of love at first sight. If 
you are expecting a sentimental romance, close the 
book at once, for you will be sadly disappointed. 
This bright, brave New England girl, reared among 
the granite hills and the hardy breezes of the North, 
had little sentimentality in her composition. She was 
as strong, stanch, and simple-minded as Aunt Eoxy 
herself. She looked the world in the face with keen 
eyes. She saw through wrong, dishonesty, and fraud at 
a glance — saw, alas ! that there was very little to be 
proud of in human nature ; very little to adore. 
Honor longed, with all the fervor of her pure young 
nature, for something substantial — for something to 
make her in love with humanity. She had an honest 
desire to find good in her fellow-beings. It was a 
grievous thought that there was no such thing as true 
nobility left in the world — that the material of which 
heroes are made had perished with her ancestry. 
She knew that true manhood and womanhood had 


266 


Eoyalized. 


fissured largely in the history of the past. It was 
hard to believe that she was living in an age of weak- 
ness and litter falsity. And, sadly enough, so it was 
looking to her in these fair spring days. Earnestly 
and anxiously studying human nature with an eager 
desire to find it gold, she had discovered a vast 
amount of cheap imitation which tarnished at the hrst 
touch. Was it so the world over? No; she thought 
not. She had faith to believe that the brave, heroic 
spirit of the forefathers had not died with them. 
There must be men of strength and uprightness 
somewhere in the ivorld, and she had been strongly 
atti-acted toward this stranger. She could not have 
told why. Certainly not because he was a friend of 
Maud’s. Maud’s favorites were apt to be shallow 
and vapid in the extreme. There was no especial 
reason why this one should be an exception. Indeed, 
the very fact of his being Maud’s friend made her 
suspect that she had not been correct in her impres- 
sion of him. Had she known who he was when she 
met him in the woods she might have viewed him 
with different eyes. She did not know, however, and 
he had impressed her as a man of sterling character. 
He had impressed her as one whom she would like 
to know — one wdio would make the world seem less 
hollow and insincere. But she might have been mis- 
taken. It was not often that she was. Her impres- 
sions were usually correct ones, but how such a man 
as she had conjectured Mr. Avery to be had possibly 
conceived a fancy for Maud she could not imagine ; 
and still such things were not uncommon in the 
history of great and good men. He might be all 
she had pictured him and still have a profound 


Sill Richakd. 


2GT 


admiration for Maud. However that might be, she 
was quite conscious of an eager desire to se§ more of- 
him, and judge by a thorough acquaintance what man- 
ner of man he was. 

They were still upon the piazza when she went 
down. Maud, with heightened color and radiant 
smiles, was idly pulling orange blossoms to pieces, 
while her admirer leaned back in his chair looking, 
not at her, but past her into the fair beauty of the 
April day, with beaming eyes. Maud leaned forward 
to tap Honor’s arm playfully as she appeared. 

“ Mr. Avery has been amusing me by a detailed 
account of your adventure in the woods,” she said 
gayly. “ It was really quite a coincidence, his meet- 
ing you and restoring naughty Hix, and rescuing you 
from all sorts of tragedies. You ought to be ever- 
lastingly grateful to him.” 

Mr. Avery looked at her with a slightly annoyed 
expression. 

“ What for ? ” he asked quickly. 

“ What for ? Why, for doing them a very great 
favor. If you had not come to the rescue they would 
have had a day of it, I reckon. We would not have 
seen them before night, most likely.” 

“ In that case I am glad I happened along,” he said 
carelessly, for I should have missed seeing them.” 

“ And that would have been a serious disadvan- 
tage,” said Maud, laughing dissonantly. You would 
have suffered from the effects of it all your life, Mr. 
Aveiy.” 

Perhaps I should,” said the gentleman gravely. 

Something in his tone irritated the Southern 
girl. 


268 


Eoyalized. 


“Come, come,” said Maud, rising impatiently. 
“The dinner-bell rang some time ago. If you are 
ready we will go in.” 

“ Le Grand,” said Honor, lagging behind the rest 
as they passed into the dining-room, “ I didn’t hear 
you call Maud’s friend Dick.” 

“ Ho, confound him ! He deserves it, but I guess 
I’ll say Sir Kichard ; it comes easier.” 


Ckeeds and Deeds. 


2G9 


XX. 

CREEDS AND DEEDS. 

Better to weave in the web of life 
' A bright and golden filling, 

And to do God’s will with a ready heart 
And hands that are swift and willing, 

Than to snap the delicate, slender threads 
Of our curious lives asunder, 

And then blame Heaven for the tangled ends. 

And sit and grieve and wonder.” 

Mk. Avery rode away in the dim, faint twilight, 
leaving behind him a diversity of opinion among the 
young people. 

Maud watched him out of sight with a dreamy 
smile. Evidently the day had been ’wholly satisfac- 
tory to her. 

‘‘ ‘ He loved and he rode away didn’t he ?” drawled 
Le Grand mockingly, giving her arm a brotherly 
pinch as he met her in the path. 

“ I wonder if we shall ever see him again,’^ said 
Honor, in a musing vray. 

Maud wheeled about sharply. 

“What is to hinder our seeing him again?” she 
asked. 

“ Why, I understood he was about leaving for the 
Xorth ; that he would start in a day or two.” 

“ Well, what of that ? So shall we be starting in a 
month at longest.” 


270 


Royalized. 


“ But it does not necessarily follow that we shall 
meet again. The world is wide.” 

Maud tossed her head and pursed up her lips into 
a significant smile. 

“ Rot so wide but that people can find each other 
in it,” she said. 

“ I say, Maud,” quoth her brother candidly, ‘‘ I don’t 
take a bit of stock in that chap. He’s nothing but a 
stuck-up prig; pretends to be a goody-goody. I tliink 
I shall cut his acquaintance. I have no opinion of him 
whatever.” 

“ I imagine he will manage to exist without your 
opinion, or your acquaintance either,” said Maud pleas- 
antly. I do not believe he considers you worth 
that,” snapping her fingers in high disdain. 

“ What in the world are you quarreling about 
now ? ” asked a fretful voice behind them. Y ou 
two are always in hot water. Really, Maud, you are 
getting a little too old for such continual bick- 
erings.” 

Mrs. Leroy swung her watering-pot before her ir- 
ritably. It was just beginning faintly to dawn upon 
her that she had devoted far more time and thought, 
during the course of her life, to watering and tend- 
ing her roses and lilies than to the culture of these 
human plants which had been committed to her keep- 
ing. She was beginning to see this fact, alas ! to her 
sorrow. 

I hope you are not disputing about Mr. Avery,” 
she continued, looking from one to the other in some 
curiosity. 

I am not disputing about any body,” said Maud, 
tossing her head. “ It would be nothing less than a 


Creeds and Deeds. 


271 


waste of breath to dispute with Le Grand Whitney 
upon any subject or person imaginable.” 

She turned carelessly away as she spoke, and swept 
off toward the house, humming a snatch from an 
Italian opera as she went. 

^‘Nothing less than a waste of breath to dispute 
with any body about that fellow,” Le Grand called 
after her with a derisive laugh. 

“ He is a very nice young gentleman,” said his 
mother reprovingly; “a really charming acquaint- 
ance, I think. I only wish you were like him, my 
son.” 

Her son snapped off a branch of magnolia leaves 
and tore them into bits scornfully. 

‘‘ Well, I’m not like him,- thank goodness ! and I 
never will be, so help me gracious ! — a soft, dawd- 
ling Miss Haney. Humph ! Give me a fellow 
with some snap to him ; any thing but a womanish 
man ! ” 

“ What do you call snap ? ” asked Honor quietly. 

‘‘ I call it independence. The idea of a fel- 
low’s being bound by laws in a free country like 
this ! ” 

‘‘But \ve are all bound bylaws, Le Grand,” said 
his mother earnestly. “What sort of a country 
should we have without them ? ” 

“.Certainly not a free country,” said Honor. “ Sup- 
pose we had every body acting their own pleasure, 
without regard to life or property, would any one in 
tlie world be free or independent ? ” 

“Well, do let the subject rest!” said Le Grand 
pettishly. “I’ve heard nothing else discussed to- 
day.” 


272 


HoYALIZED. 


4 

“ You will be under the necessity of hearing such 
things discussed very often, I fear,” Mrs. Leroy said 
gravely. 

‘‘ Well, then. I’ll take myself where I wont hear 
them. Allow me to bid you good-evening, ladies.” 

“ Where are you going ? ” cried his mother in some 
alarm. 

“ Where I can find a set of jolly good fellows who 
are not tied down to restrictions.” 

Mrs. Leroy laid her hand upon his arm persua- 
sively. 

“ Don’t go, Le Grand. Come in, and we will have 
some music, and Honor will read some of her beau- 
tiful selections perhaps. Come, my son, I want 
you.” 

He shook her off angrily. 

“What do you suppose I care for music and all 
that nonsense ? Keep them for such fellows as Dick 
Avery. I can find entertainment far more to my 
taste outside.” 

“ But 1 don’t want you to find entertainment out- 
side,” pleaded the mother. 

Her son snapped his fingers in her face disdain- 
fully. 

“ I don’t care that for what you want,” he said as 
he drew a cigarette from his pocket, lighted it, and 
strolled away. 

Mrs. Leroy and her step-daughter looked into each 
other’s eyes, and the first expression of sympathy 
passed between them. 

“ Honor, how shall we save him ? ” asked the 
mother, speaking involuntarily from the depths of a 
heart that was wrung with sudden fear., . 


Ckeeds and Deeds. 


273 


Honor hesitated. She knew more about this boy 
than even liis mother did. She knew there was strong 
need for fear, strong need for earnest endeavor, strong 
need, alas ! for a mother’s prayers, and Mrs. Leroy 
was not a praying woman. Honor’s thoughts revolved 
rapidly. Should she make a strong appeal to her fa- 
ther’s wife ? It would probably be a waste of words, 
but the effort should be made, and the lady herself 
had opened the subject. 

“ Do you think any thing but God’s grace can save 
liim ? ” she asked suddenly. 

“God’s grace!” repeated the mother in conster- 
nation. “ Why, Honor, child, you can’t mean he has 
gone so far as that ? ” 

“ So far as what ? ” 

“Why, that only God’s grace can save him.” 

“ Haven’t we all gone as far as that ? ” 

“ O, in a certain sense I suppose we have ; but when 
people use these strong expressions they are suspected 
of having serious reason for their words. Do you 
think Le Grand is worse than other boys ? ” 

“ I know very little about other boys,” said Honor 
evasively. 

“ And I know nothing about other boys. They all 
get into wild, rough ways at some time of their lives, 
I dare say. Honor, do you think Le Grand drinks 
more wine, and all that, than is good for him?” 

“ In my opinion he does that if he drinks a drop,” 
said the girl bluntly. “ I have very decided views on 
that subject, you know.” 

“ Yes. I know you are one of the temperance 
fanatics. I never had any sympathy with th^t sort 
of craze ; does more harm than good always. But I 
18 


274 


Eoyalized. 


must confess I’m a little uneasy about that boy. He 
took three glasses of wine at dinner to-day. I ob- 
served Mr. Avery looking at him with the strangest 
expression. I was very much annoyed. I wish Le 
Grand would control himself. His poor father was 
very fond of his wine — though, for that matter, all 
gentlemen are, I suppose.” 

I do not think so. Mr. Avery did not touch it, 
I noticed.” 

“ O, Mr. Avery ! he is immaculate, no doubt, espe- 
cially in the eyes of young ladies. He has prejudices 
against drinking, I presume. Many of the best peo- 
ple have.” 

‘‘ Would it not be better if every body had ? ” 

Well, perhaps. It would be safer, at all events. 
I should like to see the stuff utterly abolished, for my 
part.” 

“Excuse me; why don’t you abolish it, then?” 
asked Honor, smiling. 

“From my own table, you mean?” 

“Yes, and from your own house.” 

“I could not do that, my dear. You know very 
well your father will have it.” 

Yes, Honor knew that all too weW. If he did not 
have it at home there were places enough where he 
could be accommodated. 

“ But with your father,” went on Mrs. Leroy plaint- 
ively, “ it is different ; he can drink even to excess 
without any bad effects, but a boy like Le Grand 
might be ruined by it. Keally, for his sake I could 
wish that there was not a drop of liquor to be ob- 
tained ; though I never did have any patience with all 
this fuss about total abstinence, either. I always set 


Ceeeds and Deeds. 


275 


it down as pure fanaticism. When a thing comes 
home, though, it has quite another look.” 

“Ah, that is it. Wlien it comes home ! * Did you 
ever think how many people , there are in the world to 
whom it has come home ? ” 

“ Well, I suppose so, and they can hardly be blamed 
for ranting, either, only it is intolerable to listen to, all 
the same.” 

“The trouble is there’s too much talking and too 
little doing,” said Honor. “It is time to stop talking 
about this thing and go to work. It is an evil that 
ought to be dug up by the roots, and there is only one 
way to go at it. There would be no drinking if there 
were nothing to drink. It looks to me like the great- 
est want of common sense that this destroyer of hu- 
man beings is permitted to. stalk abroad without mo- 
lestation. If a tiger were showing his teeth at every 
street corner men would arm themselves and strike 
the dangerous thing dead. They wouldn’t stop to 
think whether it were policy or not. They would 
strike at the creatures very hard ; and yet the tiger 
could only kill the body, while this hydra-headed 
monster has power to destroy the soul as well. And 
Christian men permit such a thing to be ! ” 

“ I thought you didn’t believe in talking about it,” 
smiled Mrs. Leroy. 

“ Well, I suppose nobody does. That which seems 
to us like the wildest of fanatical raving is usually 
only the indignant outburst from a heart that has suf- 
fered.” 

“ People should learn to control such outbursts, I 
think. They do more harm than good. But, really, 
if my boy should fall a victim to this terror I believe 


276 


Koyalized. 


I would turn temperance reformer mjself . 'Not that 
I apprehend any serious danger ; Le Grand is too 
proud, I think — has too much self-respect. But I 
would give any tiling for the power to keep him oif 
the street at night. He’s got in with a wild set, I’m 
afraid. Do you know who his associates arc. 
Honor?” 

‘‘ I know something about them. They are not 
such as would please you.” 

“ Well, I’m thankful to say we shall leave Savan- 
nah soon. I had intended remaining until June, but 
I believe it would be wiser to make arrangements at 
once. Le Grand will be utterly ruined if we stay 
here ; he is better off under his grandfather’s eyes. 
Honor, I have a favor to ask of you ; I wish you to 
talk with Le Grand about this. It is of no use for 
me to say any thing to him, and he will not listen to 
Maud. I have observed with pleasure that he is 
strongly attached to you, and that your influence over 
him is good. Urge him to think of his duty toward 
himself and society. Appeal to his pride ; that, I 
think, is his strongest point. Try and impress upon 
him the seriousness of giving way to these tempta- 
tions.- O, you know better what to say than I can 
tell you.” 

Honor shook her head rather hopelessly. 

“It would have no weight with him,” she said. 
“ Boys don’t like to be lectured.” 

“ Well, you needn’t lecture. Your terse, clear way 
of putting things is the best possible style to succeed 
with a boy like Le Grand, and, besides, I notice he 
listens to you. At any rate, I wish you to make the 
effort. You are a good talker. Honor. You say ef- 


Creeds and Deeds. 


2.77 


fective things without seeming to try. Dear me. I< 
wish he was ses^en instead of seventeen, that I could 
lock him in his room! Now I shall worry half the 
night. He never comes in until long past midnight 
when he goes with that set.” 

She sighed heavily as she moved away, and Honor, 
watching her disappear among the shadows, re-echoed 
the sigh. Her hands were tilled with choice flowers, 
the product of her own untiring care and industry. 
The faint, sweet odor of creamy cape jasmines and 
rare red roses came back to Honor from out the 
beautiful dusk of the fair Southern twilight. 

‘‘ What a pity ! What a pity 1 ” the heart of this 
girl cried out, and yet Honor loved these beautiful 
gifts of God with more than ordinary fondness. It 
was the thought of this woman’s only son which 
made the fragrance of these flowers seem pitiful. 

“ I wish I could do something,” she said, knitting 
her brows. Then the strong Puritan blood in her 
spoke out : “ I will do something.” 

After that it required scarcely an effort to swing 
open the iron gate and step out into the swarm- 
ing, brilliant street. She knew where Le Grand 
went for what he called a good time. His own 
sister had called her attention to the place one even- 
ing as they were passing it. She had pointed out the 
boy’s pale, weak face as he stood clearly defined in- 
the brightly lighted window of the gambling saloon. 
Maud had passed the picture with curling lips and 
idly contemptuous words. Honor’s soul had recoiled 
at it in horror. Yes, she knew where Le Grand was. 
She was going straight there. It was a bold thing 
to do — an unheard-of thing, no doubt, especially in 


278 


IwOYALIZED. 


this Southern city, where strictest proprieties were 
demanded ; but there was something of higher im- 
portance than mere conventionality to be considered 
just now. Honor was going to make a bold stroke. 
She would fail, 'perhaps. People usually did fail in 
endeavors of this character ; but at least she must 
have the satisfaction of knowing that she had done 
what she could, and there was nothing else to do in 
this case. 

Hurrying through the crowd with eager, impetu- 
ous feet, she reached the saloon all too quickly. 
One glance through the open window revealed the 
object of her mission, his face ablaze with passion, 
his fist clinched, and an overturned glass of spirits at 
his elbow. Evidently something had gone wrong. 
Le Grand was not apt to look this way when he was 
enjoying the society of these boon companions. Cer- 
tainly it looked like an inauspicious time for the 
execution of such a mission as that upon which she 
had come. 

But Honor did not hesitate ; if she had — if she had 
paused a single instant to consider the matter — she 
would have turned and fled from the spot as from a 
plague-house. She was fully conscious of this, there- 
fore she did not hesitate. Pushing open the heavy 
door with a firm hand she advanced boldly upon the 
angry boy. 

Le Grand, I wdsh to speak with you a moment,” 
she said. 

He turned, looked upon her, and swore such an 
oath as made her wince and pale with indignation ; 
but she did not move from tlie spot. 

‘‘ Come outside a moment,” she whispered. 


Creeds and Deeds. 279 

“ What for ? ” he asked dully, recovering himself 
a little. 

“ Because I wish to speak with you upon important 
business.” 

He stared at her doubtfully a moment, then arose 
and seized his hat. There was a sort of fascinated 
silence in the room as they passed out together. You 
might have heard a leaflet fall. Honor felt the eyes 
of all the young men upon her, but she regarded them 
not at all in the light of the wonderful achievement 
she had made. She had not had the smallest idea of 
accomplishing it tlius easily. 

Out of the tainted air of that room they went into 
the pure blossom fragrance of the April night. Honor 
drew in the sweetness with long breaths. Le Grand 
turned upon her fiercely eager. 

“How, what is all this about?” he said roughly. 
“ Out with it, girl. Has any body dropped dead ? ” 

“ Hot that I know of.” 

“ Is any one in mortal danger, then ? Surely noth- 
ing less than a case of life and death could tempt a 
girl to show her face in there at this hour.” 

“ It is a case of life and death,” said Honor gravely. 
“ Some one is in mortal danger.” 

“Well, who is it? Speak out, can’t you? My 
mother ? ” 

“ Ho, it is her son.” 

He glanced at her, not comprehending for a mo- 
ment ; then he smiled sardonically. 

“ And this is what you came here to tell me ? 
Honor Leroy, I had no idea you were such a fool ! ” 

“ As what ? ” she asked coolly. 

“ As to do what you have done to-night. A pretty 


280 


lioYALIZED. 


story this will be to go trumping through town — as 
it will tlirough the mouths of these fellows ! ’• 

“ Do you suppose I think of them ? ” 

“ hTo, I don’t suppose you do, unless you’re crazy.” 
j “ Le Grand, will you come with me ? ” 

‘‘ Yes, I suppose so. I couldn’t go back and face 
the music in there. Honor, how could you do such 
a thing?” 

‘‘ I could do it a dozen times if it would have the 
effect of keeping you out of such places as that.” 

“ But it wouldn’t have any such effect. Don’t flat- 
ter yourself that you’ve got me tied to your ribbons 
by any such a fool process as this. I’m my own 
master, and you can make up your mind to it. I 
shall go where I please and do as I will, for all the 
sniveling and dilveling in the world.” 

“ Yes, I suppose so.” 

‘‘ Y ou had better suppose so. I’m no baby. Honor 
Leroy. I’m a man.” 

Yes?” 

‘‘ O, you needn’t look at me in that doubtful sort 
of a way. You’d make a star of an actress. Honor ; 
I advise you by all means to take up the profession. 
But about my business don’t make a fool of your- 
self.” 

To this Honor made no reply, and thus they hurried 
on in silence. Once safely inside the gates of home, 
she turned upon him a pair of very serious eyes. 

Listen to me,” she said sternly. What do you 
think I went into that den of iniquity for to-night ? ” 

“ To save me, I suppose ; to seek a wandering 
sheep ; to pluck a brand from the burning, and all 
that.” 


Creeds and Deeds. 281 

“Well, yes, that is just what I did go for. Do 
you imagine it cost me nothing?” 

“ Nothing more than your reputation, 1 reckon,” he 
answered impertinently. 

“Well, even that I can afford to lose if lost in 
doing God’s work. Le Grand, you boast that you are 
a free man. Are you quite sure you are not a slave ? ” 

“Please don’t quote that fellow to me,” said Le 
Grand disgustedly. “ Pve had quite enough of him 
for one day. It’s no use to preach to me, Honor.” 

“ I know it.” 

“Then why are you so infernally at it? I’m old 
enough to chose for myself. If I chose to go to the 
dogs it’s nobody’s business but my own.” 

“Ah, but it is somebody’s business. It is every 
body’s business to stand in the way of such a catastro- 
phe. Was it nobody’s business but your own if you 
had been drowned that day on the river last summer? 
Could I have stood there quietly and seen the steam- 
er run you down and excused myself for not giving 
the alarm on the plea that it was none of my busi- 
ness ? ” 

“ Finally, brethren,” began Le Grand mockingly. 

“Finally, my brother,” said Honor, with a radiant 
smile, “I am delighted that I was successful in 
bringing you away at any cost, even for once.” 

“ Pooh ! that’s no victory at all. I came because I 
hadn’t the face to listen to the tune those fellows 
would set up if I had gone back. But I warn you 
not to. try the game again. You would never have 
got me out of there to-night if you hadn’t lied so 
outrageously.” 

“ What did I say that was not true ? ” 


2S2 


Koyalized. 


^*You know very well what you said — that you 
wished to see me upon important business.” . 

‘‘Well, so I did ; the very most important business 
that could possibly concern you. I wanted to ask you 
to turn your back on that place, and all places of like 
character, forever.” 

“ Pooh, pooh ! ‘ What fools these mortals be ! ’ ” 

Nevertheless, his face was a trifle less cloudy as they 
went in together. 


Buttercups and Daisies. 


283 


XXL 

BUTTERCUPS AND DAISIES. 

“ Let nothing disturb thee, nothing surprise thee.” 

It certainly was a novel sight for Broadway. The 
young fellows could scarcely be blamed if they did 
look into each other’s eyes and smile a little, Richard 
Avery thought. It was not often one saw a real, live 
country woman, fresh from the green Xew England 
hills, in the midst of such -a throng as this. Country 
women there were, no doubt, by scores, but seldom 
one so intensely verdant as this. The woman’s ap- 
pearance was certainly a trifle ludicrous — pleasant, 
though, too, decidedly so, and really refreshing with 
the reflection of buttercups, daisies, cloverheads, 
and dandelions showing in every fold of the neat 
black silk gown and snowy neck-handkerchief. ' Xo 
matter if she did look like a tableau of revolutionary 
times, she was neat and refined and intelligent, and 
a lady, every inch. 

Mr. Avery stopped suddenly, pretending to be 
greatly interested with something inside the window 
of a book-store he was passing. This lady w^as so 
evidently out of place here ; she might have lost her 
way. There was a perplexed look upon her face, as 
if she were in need of assistance, and if she were she 
would ask it of him perhaps. But she did not. She 
merely glanced at him, and then turned imploringly 


284 : 


Koyalized. 


toward the idle group of gay young gentlemen who 
were regarding her with sly winks and ill-concealed 
amusement. 

“ Can any of you tell me where Lawyer Avery 
lives ? ” she asked hurriedly, glancing from one to the 
other in some trepidation. 

The young man standing nearest her took the cigar 
from his lips and looked at his companions with an 
expression of deep meditation. 

“Lawyer Avery? Well, really, madam, I ought 
to know. Where does he live, McE^air? You’re as 
good as a directory any day. Give us the benelit of 
your level head now, cant you?” 

“ O, certainly ! ” said McXair, stepping forward 
with an air of great importance. “ Any thing you 
wish to know, madam ? Lawyer Avery I think you 
are in search of. Don’t happen to have his card any- 
where about you, I suppose ? ” 

“ No, I lost it. I can’t think how I come to be so 
keerless. I thought may be some of you might know 
Mr. Avery. I’m a stranger in the city.” 

“ So I perceive, madam. O yes, of course, I’m ac- 
quainted with Mr. Avery. Went to the same church 
with him all my life. Well, ma’am, you see that big 
white building over yonder ? Well you go past that 
and turn to your right and cross over and turn to 
your left and go round the corner and walk two 
blocks and cross over again and turn to your left and 
walk two more blocks and turn to your right and go 
round another corner and cross over again and walk 
six blocks and you’ll come to the liouse. Can’t pos- 
sibly miss it. It’s a white house with green blinds 
and blue curtains by the windows, and there’s a grass- 


Buttercups and Daisies. 285 

plot in front of it, all dotted over with buttercups. 
It’s a dandy of a place when you get there.” 

All this was rattled off as glibly as possible ; the 
words seemed fairly to fly from the smiling lips. 
The old lady stared at him with an expression of 
utter bewilderment. Mr. Avery turned upon him 
sharply, and was about to administer a aevei’e reproof, 
when liis attention was attracted by the appearance 
of a new actor upon the scene. This young man had 
the look of one who dealt straightforwardly with all 
the world. He advanced upon the smiling group 
with I’apid strides. It was very plain that they were 
amusing themselves at the expense of this unsophisti- 
cated old soul, who was too good-hearted to suspect 
them. Well, then, he would put an end to their 
fun. 

“ Is there any thing I can do for you, madam ? 
stepping into the midst of the circle and laying a 
friendly hand upon the stiff, black sleeve. She 
turned eagerly. The voice was wonderfully reassur- 
ing ; the face — ah, she had seen it somewhere. She 
could not think where, but somewhere, when it was 
younger and less manly than now, that face had made 
a decided impression, either good or bad, upon her. 
Ah, yes, there was a look of surprised recognition 
flashing in the keen dark eyes. The boy remembered 
her. 

“Why, Aunt Koxy!” the kind, strong voice ex- 
claimed, and then she ' felt her hand in its cotton 
glove grasped warmly, and the brown straw hat was 
lifted from the dark, close-cropped hair, reverently 
almost, as it might have been in the presence of a 
queen. 


286 


HOYALIZED. 


“ Well, reall)", young man, you’ve got the better of 
Eoxana Hill foi: once in your life. I ’member your 
face ; I’ve seen it somewheres, but for the life of me 
I cannot tell where.” 

“Do you remember any thing about Grand Gil- 
more ? ” he asked, his honest face reddening as he re- 
called the unpleasant cause which she had for remem- 
bering him. 

“ Grand Gilmore ! Should think I did. hTow, 
you can’t be that boy, no way ! ” 

“ Why not ? ” 

“Well, it don’t seem possible; but then you’ve 
growed, of course. Le’s see ; its all of three years, 
haint it, since you left Slippery Elm Hollow ? ” 

“ Slippery Elm Hollow ! ” repeated one of the 
young gentlemen in sotto voce, “ Sounds rustically 
refreshing, now, doesn’t it ? ” 

“Yes, and decidedly refreshing you would find it 
on such a day as this,” said Grand coolly, looking 
straight into the eyes of the smiling youth. “For 
my part I can imagine no possible spot which I 
would prefer to its cool greenness just at this mo- 
ment ; ” and then he drew the old lady from tlie 
country a little nearer to the window where Mr. 
Avery still stood, and a little further from the battery 
of those impertinent eyes. 

“ Were you looking for any place? ” he asked. 

“ Why, yes,” the' old troubled expression returning 
again ; “ that’s jest what I ain. You see I’ve come 
to see my law^yer. I’ve been transactin’ business 
wdth him for years, and never set eyes on him.* I got 
a little worried about some of my affairs this spring, 
and I jest made up my mind I’d come right here and 


Buttescups and Daisies. 


287 


have a talk with him. I can’t get head nor tail to all 
this writin’ business. But lo and behold, when I got 
here I found out I’d lost his address — a pretty lix for 
a body in sich a bedlam as this. That’s what I’m 
wanderin’ about here for — tryin’ to find somebody 
that knows him. I believe the young fellow over 
there does. He tried to tell me, but law ! he talked 
so fast I couldn’t make nothin’ out of what he said ; 
but may be if I got him to write it down I might 
manage to find the liouse.” 

“ I think we will hardly put him to that trouble,” 
Grand said, with a look of cool contempt in the direc- 
tion of the informant. “ It will be safer and wiser to 
consult a dictionary. Do you remember the lawyer's 
first name ? ” 

Yes, I should think I did. It’s queer cnougli to 
stick in any body’s memory — Irenseus. Did you ever 
hear sucli an outlandisli name? — Irenseus Avery.” 

Mr, Avery, who had been listening with consider- 
able interest to tliis last, now stepped forward and 
held out his hand to Aunt Boxy, smiling. 

I shall take pleasure in relieving you of the care 
of this lady,” he said, addressing Grand. “ Irenaeus 
Avery is my father, and I have no doubt it is he of 
whom she is in search. Shall I have the pleasure of 
conducting you to his office at once, madam ? It is 
only a few blocks from here.” 

The old lady was about to give a joyful assent, but 
Grand interrupted her hastily. His liard, struggling 
life had made him suspicious. This young man might 
be a gentleman ; he certainly looked it, but one must 
not judge by looks alone. They were quite insuffi- 
cient ; and Aunt Roxy was so alone, so utterly trust- 


288 


liOYALIZED. 


ful and unsophisticated. This young man. for aught 
Grand Gilmore knew to tlie contrary, was only an- 
other of that party of idlers under the lamp-post who 
were continuing to send mirthful glances and suggest- 
ive winks toward Aunt Roxy and her bold protector. 
It was only another scheme, perhaps, to gain posses- 
sion of hej* ; and really she was an odd specimen, and 
one that promised no end of entertainment to a set of 
gay, thoughtless, idle fellows like these. Grand re- 
solved that if this were their intention they should 
lind their plans frustrated. 

“ I think,” he said quietly, that you had better 
come home with me for an hour or two and rest. 
Then this afternoon I will see you safely at your law- 
yer’s place of business. This lady is an old friend of 
mine,” he added, addressing the gentleman. ‘‘ If you 
will favor me with your father’s address I will be 
greatly obliged.” 

Mr. Avery interpreted the cool, determined glance 
of the bright dark eyes which met his with an expres- 
sion that gave him to understand that he distrusted 
him. He smiled a little as he drew out his card and 
handed it to Grand. Then, silently lifting his hat, 
he disappeared in the crowd. 

“ I want you to come home and see Belle,” Grand 
said to Aunt Roxy, with gladness in his eyes. 

She looked at him a little suspiciously over her 
spectacles. Evidently the impression of Grand Gil- 
more’s one dishonorable act was still strong upon 
her. 

‘‘ Look here, young man,” she said, sternly fixing 
her eyes on his, “ air yoTu to be trusted or not ? I 
remember you once led me a wild-goose chase because 


Buttercups and Daisies. 


289 


I believed in yon ; but you don’t catch me in no sich 
ti-ap as that a second time. A burnt cliild dreads the 
fire, they say, and it’s well for me I was burnt, may 
be. A body don’t begin to know the wickedness of 
this world till they’ve had their wings singed a time 
or two. Here I be, utterly at your mercy, a lone 
w’-oman in this great babel of a city, where the con- 
fusion and racket air enough to drive a . body dis- 
tracted. You’ve sent away that nice-looking gentle- 
man, Mr. Avery’s own son. What did you do that 
for, rd admire to know ? ” 

“ Because I was uncertain of him,” said Grand, 
with flushing cheeks. Young men in the city will 
do all sorts of things to get a little sport.” 

“ Humph ! And you thought he wasn’t Lawyer 
Avery’s son at all, may be? Set a thief to catch a 
thief, they say. Grand Gilmore, 1 don’t know 
wdiether to trust you or not. You don’t look nor act 
like the same boy that deceived me that night, but 
that haint sayin’ you’ve altered. Human natur’ aint 
apt to take sudden changes of this sort. How’s a 
body to know ? ” 

‘‘ There is no possible way of knowing,”- said the 
boy very gravely. “ I hoped you could take me on 
trust. I am not the same boy who played that ras- 
cally game upon you that November night so long 
ago. It seems like ages to me. I’ve had a great 
deal to bear since baby died. There are worse 
trouliles than death that I have gone through with. 
It is not likely that I should feel like trifling with you 
now.” 

“ No, I suppose it aint. Any way. I’ll have to trust 
you, for there’s nothing else to do. I’ll go with you, 
19 


290 


Koyalized. 


Grand Gilmore, but remember it’s an old, helpless 
woman you are dealin’ with.” 

Yes, he would remember it. She need not have 
feared to trust her very life in the hands of this young 
man. The memory of her last great kindness was 
too fresh upon him to admit of thought of disrespect 
toward her. Had she been his own mother he could 
not have guided her with greater care and watchful- 
ness through the crowded thoroughfare, into the mis- 
erable alley, up the dreary stair-way to the poor little 
spot he called home. 

“ Belle, Belle ! ” he called, a ring of real pleasure 
in his voice, which had grown so utterly foreign to it 
as to render it almost strange, ‘‘ who do you think I’ve 
brought to see you ? ” 

She arose and advanced from a dusky corner of the 
room where she had been lying upon the old hard 
lounge, this Belle, with her sullen face and scowling 
brows, just a gleam of interest lighting up her tear- 
washed eyes as she came. He could bring nobody 
she cared a rush about seeing, unless, indeed, he 
had found Birdie. There was always a hope in the 
hearts of this brother and sister that some day 
Birdie would come in at the door just as she had 
gone out of it, fair and childish and smiling. But 
she had not come yet. Ah no ! Alas ! it was only 
some tiresome old woman Grand had picked up some- 
where. 

“ Don’t you remember this good face. Belle ? ” 
asked her brother, a little annoyed that no sign of 
recognition lit up the dull blue eyes. 

‘‘Ho; or yes, it is Aunt Boxy — Miss Hill, I mean. 
Where did you lind her. Grand ? ” 


BUTTEliCUPS AND DAISIES. 291 

“ I found her on Broadway. Aren’t you delighted 
to see her,' Belle ? ” 

“ O yes ; delighted to see any body. This loneli- 
ness is intolerable. Will you sit down, ma’am, and 
take off your bonnet ? ” 

‘‘ Of course she will,” said Grand cheerily, drawing 
forward the old rocking-chair and placing Aunt Roxy 
in it with gentle force. “ And do. Belle, get a cup of 
tea for her as quickly as you can. She has had quite 
a tramp, I suspect, and a good deal of worry. Bm 
sure she’s hungry.” 

“ And of course you are.” 

“ Certainly ; did you ever know me to be any thing 
else at noon ” 

“ Well, ma’am, it is good to see you here.” This 
much Belle vouchsafed, standing in front of the old 
rocking-chair and looking down at its silver-haired 
occupant with genuine pleasure in her eyes. 

Aunt Roxy sent keen glances about the little apart- 
ment. Poor as it was, it was such a vast improve- 
ment upon the "wretched home at Slippery Elm Hol- 
low that she nodded complacently as she ffnished her 
survey. 

‘‘ ’Pears to me you’ve picked up considerable since 
you moved to the city,” she said. 

“ What ? O, the room ! Yes. Grand gets quite 
a fair salary now, and we can afford to fix things up 
a bit. Besides, there are not so many of us^ as there 
used to be, with Baby gone and the little girls and 
Birdie too.” 

‘H3irdie ! You don’t mean to tell me that sweet 
child is dead too ! I always said she was too good for 
earth.” 


292 


E-oyalized. 


“ She is not dead,” said Grand hastily. “We lost 
her about a year ago. I cannot -bear to speak of it. 
I would rather think of her as dead if it were pos- 
sible.” 

“ Why, what on earth has happened to the child ? ” 

“ Eobody knows,” said Belle, with a solemn shake 
of her fair head. “ She may be in her grave or at 
the bottom of the river for all we can tell. Some- 
body spirited her away from us one day last summer. 
It was more likely father than any one else ; but if it 
was he never intends to open his mouth to us about 
it. Wewe never seen or heard from her since she 
left us.” 

But Aunt Boxy had heard. Ah, yes, she remem- 
bered it now. Honor in one of her letters had given 
a detailed account of Birdie’s advent at Glendyn. 
Was it possible that the brother and sister had been 
kept in ignorance of their father’s movements to this 
extent ? 

“ Why, don’t you know ? ” she began indignantly, 
and then checked herself abruptly, as the thought 
struck her that there might be some good reason 
which she did not at all apprehend why they should 
not know. Certainly the child was better off at 
Glendyn than she could possibly be here. Aunt 
Boxy was a prudent woman. It would have been a 
delight to tell these young people that the little sister 
they so evidently mourned as lost to them forever 
was living in a luxurious, happy home. But then, 
after all, human nature is full of strange contradic- 
tions. The news might not have been altogether 
welcome. Perhaps, after all, she would better not 
tell all that she knew about Birdie. 


Butteecups and Daisies. 293 

“And so Birdie is really lost?” she said,' finishing 
her sentence rather confusedly. 

“ Lost to us as effectually as if she was in her 
grave,” said Grand mournfully ; and then Belle gave 
an eager account of her mysterious disappearance and 
of Grand’s long and hopeless search, while she was 
making the tea and spreading the little round table 
with a clean brown cloth, for stern necessity was 
making something of a housekeeper of Belle after all. 

“Well, well,” Aunt Roxy said cautiously, as she 
concluded her narration ; “ I wouldn’t worry about it. 
It stands to reason the child must be safe somewhere, 
or you’d have heard tidings of her before this. If 
she was a baby ’twould be different, but a girl of that 
age aint a-goin’ to submit to bein’ imposed upon. 
She knows what she’s about, I guess.” 

“ And she was such a sensible little thing,” said 
Grand thoughtfully. “ I can’t think she would be 
persuaded with any thing wrong or foolish, but what 
puzzles me is her silence. I can’t account for her 
not writing me just a word to say that she was at 
least alive. It’s the secrecy that looks suspicious.” 

“ And have you any suspicions ? ” 

“Ho very definite ones. She always had an idea 
of becoming a public singer. It has occurred to me 
that she may have been enticed by some troupe of 
strolling players. It is the only thing I can think of. 
She had grown very pretty, and her voice was won- 
derful. She might easily have been considered a prize 
in a company of this character, but I never imagined 
that she could be so deluded. I had the greatest pos- 
sible faith in Birdie.” 

“Well, you’d better hold on to it. I don’t believe 


Royalized. 


29 ^ 

she’s gone off with no theater folks. Slie wasn’t one 
of that kind. I believe your father knows where she 
is. Did you ever ask him ‘i ” 

“ Ask him ? I should think so. But he will not 
admit of any knowledge. It does not seem as if he 
could be wicked enough to give her up to such a life 
as that. He has the natural instincts of a gentleman, 
and I cannot believe that any inducement could tempt 
him to sacrifice his own child in this way.” 

‘‘Well, I don’t believe it. I believe he’s found a 
good home for her somewhere — with her mother’s 
friends, may be.” 

“ O, no,” said Grand decidedly. “ That isn't pos- 
sible. They would not receive her even if she were 
willing to go to them, and she would not be willing. 
Birdie was a stanch opposer to any one who was 
guilty of ignoring her mother.” 

“Well, 1 wouldn’t fret,” said Aunt Boxy sooth- 
ingly. “It’s all for the best, no doubt. You must 
trust in the Lord. Do you do that, Grand ? ” 

Grand bowed his head a little stiffly. His faith in 
God was strong as a rock. If it had not been the 
billows and the storm would have swept him under 
long ago. His grasp on God was all that had saved 
him ; but lie could not speak of this, not even in the 
presence of this simple soul whose trust was like a 
child’s. 

“I hope you are not ashamed to own it if you 
do,” said Aunt Boxy, looking at him sharply over 
her spectacles. “ It’s not a thing to be ashamed of, 
boy.” 

“ Ashamed ? Bo,” he said simply, but his ff ne 
eyes lit up with a sudden glory that transfigured his 


Buttercups and Daisies. 


295 


face for an instant. It was the most emphatic con- 
fession of faith which this good woman liad ever 
witnessed. Involuntarily she reached out to him the 
right hand of fellowship, and at that moment her last 
lingering doubt of Grand Gilmore vanished away 
like fog before the sun. 


206 


Eoyalized. 


XXIL 

AUNT ROXY’S OPINION. 

“ The humble grace that marches steadfastly on in sunshine and 
storm, when no banners are waving and there is no music to cheer 
the weary feet.” 

“ I WISH yon would stay tlie rest of the day with 
lis,” pleaded Belle after lunch, holding fast to Aunt 
Boxy in a childish, half-petulant way. The days 
are so 'long, with Grand away from morning till night 
and nobody to talk to ; and, besides, seeing yon brings 
back old times. We used to be happier then than 
we are now ; didn’t we. Grand ? ” 

‘‘In many ways, I suppose we did, but I would not 
like to return to that life. Do persuade her to stay 
until evening. Belle.” 

Aunt Roxy looked thoughtfully from one to the 
other. It had been so purely accidental — no, so pure- 
ly providential, this meeting ; God had sent her here 
for some purpose, no doubt. There was nothing to 
hinder her staying until evening. She could not go 
home until to-morrow any way, and she might see 
her lawyer as well to-night, perhaps. It would be 
out of business hours, but then she merely wanted to 
have a little confidential chat with him. She could 
see him in his own home, no donbt. 

“Do you think I conld?” she asked in a musing 
tone. “ It would be so much pleasanter to see him 
in his own house. I hate to go pokin’ into lawyers’ 


Aunt Roxy’s Opinion. 297 

offices, and my business don’t amount to mucli in the 
way of formality.” 

‘‘I think under the circumstances it would be 
highly proper for you to call upon him at his resi- 
dence,” said Grand eagerly. “ At any rate, suppose 
you stay with Belle this afternoon, and in the even- 
ing I will take you to him. If he is not at home 
you can go to his office early in the morning.” 

“ O, do stay,” urged Belle ; ‘‘ it will be all right, of 
course.” 

Aunt Roxy yielded rather willingly. In truth, she 
had no relish for the errand upon which she had 
started. It looked such a formidable thing, and the 
crowd and the noise. confused her sadly. This narrow 
court was far more to her taste, sliut in and shielded 
as she was here from the rush and roar. 

“You’ll be home early, I suppose?” she said a 
little anxiously to Grand as he stood in the door about 
to depart. 

“Yes, quite early; never later than six;” and he 
hurried away with a lighter heart than usual, for the 
coming of this old friend had comforted him. It 
was so safe to leave Belle, too, in such care as this. 
He never went out from Belle, day or night, without 
a vague feeling of anxiety. To-day, however, he ran 
down-stairs whistling in the old boyish way. Aunt 
Roxy's wholesome presence was like a benediction 
upon his troubled life. It was as if he felt cool grass 
and clover blooms under his feet again after a long 
hard tramp over brick pavements. 

“It’s wonderful how he’s changed,” said Aunt 
Roxy musingly, as slie wiped the cups and saucers 
which Belle was hastily washing. 


298 Eoyalized. 

Who, Grand ? Yes, it is wonderful, and no im- 
provement, either.” 

“No improvement? Why, child, you must be 
blind or crazy to say that. It’s the greatest improve- 
ment that could be thought of.” 

“ Humph ! There may be two opinions as to that. 
Why, he used to be the jolliest boy in the world, 
always ready for a good time, but now he’s a regular 
poke, forever reading and studying. He makes 
me fairly wild with his sober, old-mannisli ways. I 
don’t believe in young people making owls of them- 
selves.” 

“ What do you believe in their making of them- 
selves ? ” asked Aunt Roxy curtly. 

“ Why, young people ; boys and girls, with a taste 
for fun and frolic. It wasn’t meant for folks to wear 
long faces so early in the day.” 

“I didn’t notice that his face was particularly 
long,” observed Aunt Roxy unsympathizingly. “ For 
a boy of his age it ’pears to me he bears liis trials 
remarkable.” 

“No, he don’t either. He mopes everlastingly.” 

“ What would you have him do — dance and whistle 
and sing and make a monkey of himself generally 
for your entertainment ? He wasn’t j)ut in the world 
for no sich purpose as that. Belle ; and, besides, a 
young man with a family on his hands haint got 
time for fooling. He’s got a heavy lot to cany;” 

“Well, he don’t need to have. It’s nothing but 
his own stubbornness that makes him have to carry 
it.” 

“ Who’d carry it if he didn’t? You, perhaps ? ” 

“ No, grandfather would.” 


Aunt Koxy’s Opinion. 


299 


“Who?” 

“ Why, Grandfather Le Grand. O, yon never heard 
that part of the story. You don’t know what a fool 
Grand Gilmore has made of himself. You haven’t 
heard how grandfather came here of his own accord 
and offered to take us away and give us every thing 
that heart could desire, and how Grand Gilmore, like 
a big donkey, refused to stir a step.” 

Aunt Roxy laid down her dish-towel and stared at 
the fair, flushed face in astonishment. 

“ Do you mean what you say? Your grandfather 
actually came here and made such an offer as that? 
Why, I thought he wasn’t even aware of your ex- 
istence.” 

“Well, h^ wasn’t, when we lived at Slippery Elm 
Hollow. He became suddenly aware of it some time 
last summer. He said he heard of us through a mu- 
tual acquaintance, though I never could imagine who 
it was. O, Aunt Roxy, he was such a splendid gen- 
tleman. Such brilliant dark eyes and such lovely 
iron-gray hair, and O, he came in an elegant carriage, 
with horses whose tails fairly swept the ground ! ” 

“But what did he come for, child ? What on earth 
did he come here for ? ” 

“Why, he came for Grand, don’t I tell you? — 
for Grand and me, to take us home with him.” 

“ And you refused to go, you say ? ” 

“ I refuse to go ? Well, I guess not. You don’t 
catch me throwing such a chance as that over my 
shoulder. I was crazy to go ; but Grand ! you 
never saw any thing like the way he treated grand- 
father. I was perfectly horrifled. He just held up 
his head and looked straight into the man’s eyes and 


300 


Royalized. 


asked him if liis invitation included his father ! Did 
you ever hear such impudence ? ” 

‘‘ And of course that made your grandfather mad ? ” 
said Aunt Roxy, deeply interested. 

It made him furious. Why shouldn’t it ? The 
idea ! I did think Grand Gilmore had better sense.” 

“ I hope they didn’t have no hard words between 
’em ? ” 

“ No ; Grand wont quarrel with any one. The 
way he controls his tongue is a marvel to me ; but he 
just stood there like a rock and said he wouldn’t leave 
his father, and he stuck to it. Grandfather used ev- 
ery argument he could think of to convince him that 
it wasn’t his duty, but it was of no earthly use. He 
never budged an inch from his stubborn resolution. 
Did you ever hear of such a fool ? ” 

“ I never heard of such a hero,” exclaimed Aunt 
Roxy enthusiastically. ‘‘ I tell you, child, that’s a 
brother to be proud of ! ” 

Belle’s countenance fell ! She had expected sym- 
pathy from strong-minded, sensible Aunt Roxy.' She 
was not prepared for this sort of demonstration from 
her. 

Well,” she said gruffly, “ I can’t see what there is 
to be proud of in foolish obstinacy. If he’d had any 
sensible reason for it it would have been different.” 

“ I suppose he had a Bible reason for it,” said 
Aunt Roxy, taking off her spectacles and wiping them 
thoughtfully. 

‘‘ No, he hadn’t ! There’s nothing in the Bible 
that tells any one to make a fool of himself.” 

‘‘ There’s something in the Bilde that tells every 
one to honor their father and mother.” 


Aunt Eoxy’s Opinion. 


301 


That is, if they are worthy of honor. I’d like to 
know how any one living could honor my father. 
Grand don’t. He hasn’t a particle of respect for 
him. It isn’t reasonable that he should have — a man 
who is rolling in the street dead drunk more than 
half the time. Ugli ! it makes me sick to think of 
it. .Honor such a creature as that! It’s an impos- 
sibility ! ” 

‘‘ Well, I expect there’s more than one way of hon- 
orin’. I’ve heerd of honorin’ a man’s position when 
you can’t honor the man. That’s the way, I suppose. 
Grand honors his father, and it’s the noblest kind of 
a way in my estimation. It don’t take no particular 
grace to honor a man who commands your respect, 
but to be obedient and kind and respectful to a person 
wlio is a continual disgrace to you — well, that’s a sort 
of spirit that a’most passes my comprehension. It’s 
simply grand ! ” 

“ It’s simply ridiculous, I say.” 

“ It is sublime,” repeated Aunt Eoxy emphatic- 
ally. “ The boy has noble blood in him or he 
wouldn’t be capable of it. It’s impossible to con- 
ceive of any common or ordinary nature makin’ such 
a sacrifice. Why, I’m proud to call such a person 
my friend.” 

Well, I'd be prouder to call him my brother if 
he’d show a little common sense.” 

“ Why, I think he’s showed uncommon sense. I 
tell you, girl, it requires a mighty strength of princi- 
ple to make a sacrifice like that. Hobody would ex- 
pect it of a boy.” 

‘‘ Well, if the sacrifice affected only himself he 
would be perfectly welcome to make it, but what 


302 


Koyalized. 


right lias he to make a wreck of my life, IM like to 
know ? ” 

‘‘Why,! don’t suppose he meant to do that.- I 
don’t believe he’d put a stone in the way of your goin’ 
to your grandfather.” 

“ He put a mighty big stone in the way of it when 
he refused to go himself. Grandfather said decidedly 
that he wouldn’t take me without Grand.” 

“ Why not, I wonder ? ” 

“ I don’t know. I imagine he thought I would be 
able to persuade the stubborn fellow — as if such a 
thing were possible ! Why, you might as w^ell try to 
budge a rock as Grand Gilmore when his head’s set. 
They are both alike in the matter of will, though. 
Tliat’s why it looks so hopeless. I wrote a long letter 
to my grandfather urging him to let me come with 
him, but all the answer he made was that he would 
not separate us. So you see I am doomed to spend 
my life in this miserable hole when I miglit be living 
like a princess, all for an obstinate notion.” 

“ Well, you want to stay if Grand stays, don’t you ? 
You wouldn’t be mean enough to forsake him after all 
he’s done for you, I hope.” 

“ I’d be sensible enough to forsake him. As for 
the meanness, that’s all on the other side. Grand 
can’t expect every body to yield to his whims. If 
he’s so devoted to father, let him shoulder the burden. 
I’m not troubled with any false notions of duty.” 

“ Ho, it’s plain to see you’re not,” observed Aunt 
Hoxy dryly. 

“Well, why should I be? I’ve only one life to 
live. I’m young and not bad-looking, and it’s only 
natural that I should want to have a good time in the 


Aunt Roxy’s Opinion. 


303 


world ; and when I could have a beautiful home and 
fine dresses and all the things other girls have it’s 
pretty hard to think I must spend my life in such a 
hole as this.” 

‘‘ There are worse holes where you might have to 
spend it.” 

“ O yes, of course. I might be living in a cellar 
or an aj ms-house ; but then again I might be living 
in a palace, and I should but for my brother’s mean- 
ness.” 

‘‘ I suppose you twit him of this quite often?” 

“ I suppose 1 do, every day at least. I’d like to 
twit him of it every hour. It’s what he deserves.” 

“ Do you know what I think of such conduct as 
this ? ” asked Aunt Roxy sternly. 

‘‘ O, I dare say you think it’s heathenish and all that, 
but I can’t help it. I guess any one in my position 
would feel the same way. To think I might have 
been rolling down Fifth Avenue every day in that 
elegant carriage, and be dressed in silks and velvets 
and living in luxury.” 

“ And your own father a-layin’ dead drunk in the 
streets and no one to look after him. What kind of 
a way would that be ? How much do you think you 
would enjoy yourself? And what would your rna 
think if she could look down from heaven above and 
see sich doin’s as that ? Your fine feathers wouldn’t 
begin to pay you for what you would sutler. You 
wouldn’t take no peace of your life.” 

“ O yes, I would. I’d never give a thought to my 
father. He isn’t worthy of it, I tell you. He’s for- 
feited all right to any consideration from his chil- 
dren.” 


304 


Eoyalized. 


‘‘ He’s your father, all the same ; you can’t get rid 
of that ; and I promise yon that if you was to come 
rollin’ past, as yon say, in yonr tine carriage and 
yonr silks and velvets, and meet him a-i’eelin’ in the 
streets, you’d go home with a heavier heart than yon 
carry now. Money won’t buy peace of mind, child, 
nor it wont buy over consciences. It’s yonr duty to 
stand by yonr' poor, unfortunate father, and if you’re 
the girl you ought to be you’ll do it till you die.” 

“ I expect to do it till I die,” said Belle bitterly, 
“ but it’s not of my own free will, I assure yon.” 

“ It may be a shorter service than you think,” said 
Aunt Boxy kindly, laying her liand upon the plump, 
warm fingers of the girl. This sort of thing can’t 
go on forever. These hard drinkers come to the end 
of their tether in a few years. It stands to reason 
tliat he must wear out beibre a great while ; I s’pose 
there’s no hope of reformin’ him ? ” 

“ Hope ! No. Might as well talk about reforming 
a madman. Grand has tried every way. He knows 
the uselessness of it, and if he had common sense he’d 
wash his hands of liim. When a man gets as low 
down as this it’s perfect folly to hold on to him just 
because he happens to be your father. He’ll go to 
the dogs any way. It’s only a question of time. 
Ugh ! how I dread the thought of being tied to him 
all my life.” 

“ Hush, child, hush ! You don’t know what you’re 
talking about. If you can’t honor your father foi’ 
his own sake — and it’s not to be expected that you 
can — and if you can’t honor him because your mother 
loved him and clung to him, like the brave woman 
she was, till she died, then try and honor him because 


Aunt Eoxy’s Opinion. 


305 


lie’s the father of one of the noblest boys that ever 
drew breath. I tell you, Belle, this old world’s 
mighty scarce of such young men as Grand Gilmore. 
Human natur’ don’t turn up a diamond every day, 
and you’ll walk many a good mile before you’ll come 
across another such character as this that blazes be- 
fore your eyes every day brighter than any diamond 
that ever shone. When your hair is as gray as mine, 
and when you’ve seen as much of the hollerness and 
falseness and selfishness of this world as I have, may 
be you’ll learn to recognize true nobility when you see 
it. You needn’t talk to me about your Grandfather 
Le Grand, with his splendid figger and his broad- 
cloth and his fine horses. He’ll see the day, most 
likely, when he’ll lift off his hat to this grandson of 
his, and be proud of the right to do so much as that. 
It’s character that speaks loudest among us, after all. 
A man may have every thing else, be overloaded with 
money and graces and talents and all that. Them are 
fine things, no doubt, greatly to be desired ; but they 
don’t weigh an iota in the balance of a grand charac- 
ter — a character that shows itself strong as a rock 
in the midst of temptation, quiet and self-controlled 
in the midst of trials and tribulations, and pure as a 
May flower in the midst of sin and degradation and 
vice. The world haint so bad as it looks to be. Hu- 
man natur’ haint so demoralized but what it can ap- 
preciate the ring of true metal when it ketches the 
sound. Why, it makes ray old heart fairly sing for 
joy to know there are such strong 3’ouhg souls coming 
to the front to preserve the honesty and integrity of 
the nation. It shows that the same God that led Is- 
rael out of Egypt has got his mighty grip on us yet, 
20 


306 


Eoyalized. 


and that he don’t mean to let go. All, Belle, child, 
instead of frettin’ and fumin’ because you can’t have 
trash, you ought to rejoice because instead you’ve got 
treasure. You’ve got a brother whose very presence 
purifies the atmosphere of every place he’s in. That’s 
' something to be proud of.” 

But Belle only smiled faintly and shrugged her 
shoulders, as she said in her heart, ‘^What an old 
maid she is ! ” 


Loudek than Words. 


307 


XXIII. 

LOUDER THAN WORDS. 

“ So far a good deed shines in a naughty world.” 

It was just seven o’clock when Annt Koxy, with 
vague misgivings, but undaunted resolution, ascended 
the brown-stone steps of Mr. Avery’s somewhat im- 
posing dwelling-place. 

“ I guess you’ll have to come in with me, Grand,” 
she said nervously. “I had no idea they were such 
big-wigs. I’d better have gone to the office, after 
all ; but now I’m here I’ll not turn back, only I don’t 
just care about going alone. There might be some 
mistake, you know, and I doubt if I could find my 
way to the hotel. You wont mind coming in a 
moment 1 ” 

“ Certainly not. I have no idea of leaving you in 
any uncertainty. It does begin to look a little for- 
midable, I must confess.” 

The servant wdio opened the door looked a trifle 
contemptuously at the prim, quaint figure of Aunt 
Roxy, but he was evidently too well trained to fnore 
than look his disdain. 

Xo, Mr. Avery was not at home, but was expected 
shortly. Would they step in the library and wait a 
few moments ? 

His tones were respectful, but there was a twinkle 
in his eye which did not escape the notice of Aunt 


Eoyalized. 


308 

Eoxy. She followed hiii> through the richly carpeted 
hall, pleased to feel, as her feet sank into the velvet 
pile, that Grand was following her with resolute foot- 
steps. She was sadly out of place here, but then she 
was not alone. 

The library, at first glance, appeared wide and un- 
tenanted ; but just as the old lady, with a sigh of re- 
lief, was sinking into the inviting depths of an easy- 
chair a young man advanced from out the dusky 
shadows. Grand smiled involuntarily as he recog- 
nized* his acquaintance of the forenoon. It was a 
little awkward, to be sure, but then he had com- 
mitted no blunder of which to be ashamed. If this 
were a manly man he would not resent it. If he 
were not, why then his good-will or ill-will was not 
worth a consideration. 

He came forward, smiling cordially, this grave, 
courteous young gentleman, whose face, manners, 
and dress were alike hiultless, and held out his 
hand hospitably, first to one, then to the othqi’ of 
these strange guests. 

“You had no difficulty in finding us, I hope?” he 
said inquiringly. 

“ O, no,” responded Grand, his face reddening in 
spite of himself. ‘‘ I hope you have pardoned my 
unfortunate blunder and apparent rudeness of this 
morning,” he added hastily. “ I had no way of being 
sure, you know.” 

“I considered it no blunder,” said Mr. Avery 
quietly ; ‘‘ you acted according to the light you had, 
and I honored your judgment.” 

Grand gave him a keen glance. The words bore 
in them a hint of irony, but the eyes looking into his 


Louder than Words. 309 

own were beaming with genuine kindness and good- 
will. Grand arose hastily. 

“ I perceive I might leave the lady in your care 
without further concern/’ he said smiling. 

I will consider it an honor if you will trust me to 
that extent,” was the grave reply, and then Grand 
bade Aunt Roxy a hasty good-bye and retreated. It 
was safe to leave her; .she was in the hands of 
friends, and there was something decidedly uncom- 
fortable in his position there in spite of the. courteous 
liospitality of the gentlemanly host. 

Aunt Roxy, however, saw him depart most re- 
gretfully. She had no further need of him, it was 
true, but it cost her more of a pang to lose him than 
she would have deemed possible. 

“ Blessings on him,” she murmured involuntarily, 
and then smiled a little as she wiped an unbidden 
tear from her eyes. 

‘‘You’ll not think me foolish, I hope,” she said 
apologetically to the young man, who stood regarding 
her with quiet interest and sympathy. 

“ By no means, madam. May I ask if your young 
friend is a relative ? ” ^ 

“]^o, he’s a boy I once considered the worst rascal 
that ever breathed. Would you like to hear his 
story, Mr. Avery, or would it be a tedious bore to 
you ? ” , 

“Indeed, it would afford me great pleasure. To 
tell the truth, I’m interested in this young fellow 
myself. He strikes me as a character decidedly out 
of the common order.” 

“ Well, he’s just that. Out of the common order ! 
I should think so. Would you be surprised to know 


310 


Koyalized. 


that lie’s related, on his mother’s sid^, to one of the 
first families in the land ? ” 

“1^0, I don’t think that knowledge would surprise 
me. The blue blood in him speaks in spite of his 
position. It spoke very emphatically at least once, 
to-day.” 

“ O yes, straws do show which way the wind comes 
from. Well, sir, the father of this young man is one 
of the miserablest drunkards that ever wore out boot 
leather. Do you believe tliat ? ” 

“ I should not have thought it, but such things 
happen occasionally. The sons of such pitiable creat- 
ures grow up to honored positions now and then , not 
often, I think.” 

“ Why, I never knew a case before. Like father 
like son has been my experience, but then all things 
are possible with God, and besides this boy had an 
extraordinary mother. There’s been a strong founda- 
tion laid, though I never should have thought it. 
Three years ago I should have said there was no hope 
on earth for Grand Gilmore. He was bound to go 
to destruction. Why, a worse little rascal than he 
was, when I first laid eyes on him, you need never 
want to see. He came to my house one dark, rainy 
night, all dressed and disguised as an old man, and 
made up a pitiful story about a sick wife and I don’t 
know what all, and actually had, the face to wheedle 
around me till I consented to go home with him, a 
two-miles walk, mind yon, on one of the ugliest 
nights that ever was made ; dark as Egypt, raining 
like suds, and mud shoe-top. Well, as I said, like a 
fool I believed his story and went, and if jmu believe 
it, when I got there there wasn’t no such thing as a 


Louder than Words. 


311 


sick woman to be seen, only a drunken man and a 
liousefulof youngsters. Well, one of the girls — Belle, 
I believe it was — pitched into him and tore off his dis- 
guisement, and lo and behold ! there he was, nothin’ 
but a little boy, not over fifteen at most ! It beat all 
the audacity I’d ever heard of, and there was all that 
tribe of children a-gigglin’ and laughin’, and that young 
villain, when I found voice to ask what he meant by 
such doin’s, actually had the impudence to tell me he 
did it for fun ! Fun ! Well, I coiild have shook the 
breath out of him ; but I didn’t, because I couldn’t get 
hold of him. But I must say I never was so beat out 
in all my life. Do you wonder at it ? ” 

‘‘Not at all,” responded Mr. Avery, bending his 
head a little to conceal a smile. “ It was, as you say, 
a most audacious and dishonorable act, madam, but 
one which it is very much in the province of the 
small boy to commit.” 

“Well, I suppose so; at least I’ve found out so 
since. I expect every body’s got to have their time 
to get out the natural evil that’s in ’em ; but that mis- 
deed of Grand Gilmore’s, as it happened, turned out 
to be one of them providences that shapes our ends, 
that they talk about. God don’t advise doin’ evil 
that good may come of it; but in this case he 
brought good out of evil-doin’, for I hadn’t been 
there more than ten minutes before I found out that 
the baby — there was a little one, not over two years 
old — was a-dyin’ just as fast as ever it could die, and 
none of them children had the least idea that any 
thing ailed it. What they’d have done, if I hadn’t 
happened to come, I can’t think, but then it’s no use 
to speculate about that ; course the Lord knew that 


312 


Royalized. 


little dying child needed me and sent me. He’s able 
to take care of motherless babies, and does it mostly. 
Well, sir, the little one died in the night, and yon 

never did see any body sober down like Grand Gil- 

more. I believe that baby’s death was the makin’ of 
him. He thought the world of his little brother. It 
didn’t take no discernment to see that. He apolo- 
gized to me the best he knew how, poor boy. He was 
such a young scamp, I expect it was hard work for 
him, but he did it, and he’s been my friend ever 

since, though I’ve never seen much of him. They 

only stayed at Slippery Elm Hollow until the next 
summer. After that I lost all track of ’em. In fact, 
I didn’t know whether Grand Gilmore 'was livin’ or 
dead, till my eyes lit on him to-day. He remem- 
bered me, it seems. He knew me the minute he saw 
me, and this afternoon I’ve learned what a hero he 
really is. Not from his own lips, I assure you. He’s 
as close as a seal ; but his sister’s got a tongue and 
knows how to use it, and after he went away at noon 
she began to make her complaints. A j^erfect stream 
of ’em she had ; but what do you think : this boy’s 
grandfather is as rich as a Jew. He’s never deigned 
to look at them children on account of their father ; 
but this winter something got into him to look ’em 
up, and he did, and as near as I can make out was 
mightily taken with Grand, as no one could help being, 
and he offered to take him and his sister and do by 
’em as it’s his duty to do ; and do you believe that boy 
wouldn’t stir a step to go with him,, because if he did 
he must leave his poor, miserable, drunken father to 
go to destruction ! And so instead of a tine house and 
a splendid education, and plenty of money and easy 


Louder than Words. 31 o 

times, he chose to stay right there in that poor little 
garret of a place, and work like a galley-slave from 
morning till night and give up all hopes of ever bein’ 
any body, when he knows as well as 1 do how he’d 
shine if he only had the chance — a bright, handsome 
f el lei* like him ! Well, he chose to give up all these 
things, just that he might cling to and care for this 
father that he can’t respect, can’t love, can’t honor no 
way, and that’s just going to be a great stumbling- 
block, as long as he lives, to the success or happiness 
of his life. What do you think of such an act, young 
man ? You’ve got education, good sense, and good 
judgment ; tell me what you think of such an act as 
that.” 

“ I think it is as fine a one as ever went on record,” 
said Mr. Avery quietly, but with kindling eyes. 
‘‘ There is a moral grandeur about it for which I can- 
not express my admiratioD.” 

“There, that’s just what I told Belle; but, of 
course, that feather-head couldn’t be expected to see 
it. Now she looks upon it as a mere piece of stub- 
born folly ; throws it up in her brother’s face every 
day how he’s ruined her prospects and all that, be- 
cause, it seems, Mr. Le Grand refused out and out to 
take her without Grand would come too. Which 
showed the old gentleman wasn’t lacking in gump- 
tion. He could see that she’d give the poor boy no 
peace of his life, and if any tiling’ll wear away a 
stone a continual dropping is most likely to do it. 
Mr. Le Grand can see as far through a knot-hole as 
any of us, I fancy.” 

“ Le Grand ? ” repeated Mr. Avery inquiringly, a 
5ash of sudden interest in his eyes. 


Royaltzed. 


3U 

“ Yes ; yon know him, may be. He’s a senator, or 
used to be ; lives near Poughkeepsie. You’ve heard 
of him, no doubt.” 

Indeed I have. And you mean to tell me that 
this young fellow is the grandson of Senator Le 
Grand?” 

Certainly. Why not ? He’s worthy to be the 
grandson of a king, 1 say.”' 

‘‘ It is a remarkable case,” said Mr. Avery, study- 
ing the carpet reflectively. 

“ Remarkable only in one way, I think. The 
grandfather’s neglect was only natural, considerin’ as 
he was dead set against his daughter marryin’ as she 
did — and it’s not to be wondered at either. The only 
remarkable part of it is the way this boy has riz 
above his misfortunes. Where’s there another, 
growed up in tlie very sink-hole of wickedness and 
temptation as he has, that wouldn’t have' been 
ruined ? ” 

“ But Senator Le Grand, madam — it is his course 
that amazes me. It seems quite incredible that he 
should abandon his grandchildren, leaving them to 
fight the battle of life unaided, amid such unfavorable 
circumstances, simply because of this boy’s nobility 
of purpose and strength of character. Are you quite 
sure that he is so obdurate as this ? ” 

“ I’m pretty sure he’s washed his hands of ’em. 
From what I can make out he’s a proud man and a 
self-willed one. I expect he thinks he’s done his duty 
by ’em. He wants to rid the boy of his father’s in- 
fluence, no doubt. Influence ! As if Grand Gilmore 
could be influenced by such a human wreck as that ! 
But then, of course, he didn’t know. How should he. 


Loudek than Words. 315 

when he knows nothing about the character of the 
boy ? ” 

“ He can scarcely be ignorant regarding his charac- 
ter after the manifestation which he has had of it. 
Senator Le Grand is no dull student of human nature ; 
moreover, he is just the man to appreciate grit and 
determination when he sees it. I am surprised that 
he should have withdrawn his interest in the young 
man on this account. Perhaps he trusts to time and 
discouragement to change his determination.” 

“ He trusts to a false hope, then. Grand Gilmore 
will never forsake his father till death parts ’em. 
That’s plain to see. All there is to hope for is that 
the man’ll have the grace to die before he wears the 
life out of the truest son the world holds. There, I 
didn’t mean to say any thing wicked ; it slipped out 
unawares. I hope you wont think I really meant I 
wished the man dead.” 

I understand your meaning,” smiled Mr. Avery. 
“ It is a very natural sentiment, and yet we have no 
right to assert our judgment in regard to these mat- 
ters ; the wisdom which controls is so infinitely su- 
perior to ours. The bounds are appointed for every 
one in supremest knowledge.” 

“ Yes,” said Aunt Roxy, admitting the soundness 
of this doctrine with a sigh, it’s all right, of course, 
but it’s hard to see a boy like Grand Gilmore sacri- 
ficed to rum.” 

“ He will not be sacrificed to it, my dear madam,” 
said Mr. Avery earnestly. Depend upon it, his will 
be a successful life. It cannot fail to be so, built upon 
so strong a foundation. I predict for this young hero 
a useful and honored position. He has the sort of 


316 


RoYALIZEI). 


grit wliicli must and will rise above the tide- water of 
iniquity and want which surrounds him. There is a 
promise attached to that commandment whicli he has 
so nobly illustrated, and God’s promises cannot fail.” 

No, that they cannot, bless his name ! ” said- Aunt 
Roxy, folding her hands devoutly. The boy’s 
days’ll be long upon the land, no doubt, but I fear 
they’ll be full of evil. I don’t see how it’s possible 
for him to rise unless somebody gives him a lift. Just 
think if it was yourself, young man, lightin’ and 
strugglin’ to make your way in the world with a dead 
weight attached to you. How long could you hold 
out ? that's the question.” 

“ Longer, perhaps, than I \yould under more favor- 
able circumstances. It is just these rough seas that 
develop good sailors. But I do not intend to leave 
this young fellow entirely to his own devices, though 
I have no doubt he would succeed without my inter- 
ference ; still one longs to have a hand in the up- 
building of such a life as this; I have been deeply 
interested in him as the hero of a little street scene 
this morning, as well as the hero of your strongly told 
story. I shall not lose sight of him. I think I can at 
least make the way to fortune a little easier to him.” 

Aunt Roxy’s eyes glowed with sudden joy. She 
leaned forward and laid her hand upon the young 
man’s arm entreatingly. 

“ You really mean this ? You will help him strug- 
gle up ? ” 

‘‘ To the utmost of my power.” 

“ God bless you, then,” she said brokenly as the 
library door opened and Mr. Avery arose to introduce 
his father. 


Honor's Hobby. 


317 


XXIV. 

HONOR’S HOBBY. 

“ Pleading for wliatsoever touches life 
With upward impulse.” 

Since the m'glit when Mrs. Leroy had taken her 
step-daughter into her contidence respecting her so- 
licitude for Le Grand there had sprung up between 
the two a strong bond of sympathy. The story of 
Honor’s bold stroke had got abroad, and, coining to 
the ears of the family, was received by them with con- 
flicting opinions. Her father flew^ into a violent passion, 
and upbraided her roundly for what he termed her 
immodest and unmaidenly behavior. Maud received 
the story with a derisive laugh and an outburst of 
contemptuous satire. Le Grand himself glowered at 
her wrathful ly day by day, declaring roughly that 
she had made a fool of both herself and him, and 
all to no purpose. But through the thick of the 
storm the mother’s eyes shone with a grateful 
light upon this girl who had dared. She would not 
have advised such a step. There was a boldness 
about it which shocked her, but the result had been 
so satisfactory that the deed itself had a flne glow 
thrown over it to the anxious eyes of this newly 
aroused mother. 

Le Grand, unable or unwilling to brave the ridicule 
of his companions, scrupulously avoided all intercourse 


318 


Royalized. 


witli tliem, and confined himself quite closely at home 
during the remainder of his sojourn in the South, 
a fact which greatly delighted his mother, and 
which she attributed to the strength of Honor’s 
influence over him. This consideration drew her to- 
ward her husband’s daughter as nothing else could 
have done. The fact was, Mrs. Leroy was sadly in 
need of some strong support to lean upon. She was 
finding her life burdens, real and imaginary, heavier 
than she could bear in these anxious days. Between 
Maud and herself there was not the slightest sympa- 
thy concerning Le Gi’and. Maud had long ago re- 
nounced her brother as too uninteresting and hope- 
less a case to engage her thoughts and -endeavmrs. It 
was no affair of hers if he went to ruin. She was 
not her brother’s keeper. But Honor, conscientious, 
strong-souled Honor, could not see a young life 
swiftly drifting toward the shoals, upon which so 
many gallant barks had been wrecked, and make no 
outcry. It was not in her nature to do so, and Mrs. 
Leroy, appreciating the danger as she did, could not 
but lean upon this one hope with all the weight of 
her supreme helplessness, and Honor, perceiving this, 
was stimulated to great effort. She knew that the 
utmost caution was needed; a word, a look, a tone 
too much was sure to snftp the slender thread by which 
she held control of this undisciplined character. It 
would be the easiest thing in the world to sever it, 
for she bad no affection for Le Grand. Indeed, there 
were times when she found it almost impossible to 
tolerate his presence. Every thing about him, per- 
sonally, mentally, morally, was distasteful to her. It 
required the utmost self-command to keep her from 


Honor’s Hobby. 


310 


spurning liim as she would a disagreeable insect, for 
it was thus he impressed her in spite of herself — a 
small every day annoyance which it was impossible to 
escape and equally impossible to accnstom herself to. 
But she must not, on any account, permit him to per- 
ceive her aversion. If she would retain the smallest 
hold upon him she must place a strong rein on her 
words not only, but her very looks as well. She 
must exercise her powers of self-control to the last 
degree. 

‘‘Well, what of it?” she said ruggedly. What 
was a complete life made up of but one long strug- 
gle after this sublime grace ? She could accomplish 
it, she would accomplish it. ' Those two words, can 
and will, had always been inseparable in Honor Leroy’s 
vocabulary. If a good thing were attainable she 
always determined to attain it, and did usually ; but 
this matter of maintaining an intercourse always 
kindly and forbearing toward Le Grand Whitney was 
really the most difficult thing which slie had ever 
undertaken. To endure his presence when she desired 
to be alone, to modulate her voice and speak gently 
to him when she was irritated beyond measure, to 
guard her very countenance that it might not express 
her disgust for him — these were trifles exceedingly 
hard to manage. ^ In fact, it is the trifles usually 
which try our strength most. As in a musical com- 
position one will spend hours of wearisome drill over 
some simple passage not having in it a melody which 
responds to the ear, while those full, grand harmo- 
nies which rouse the soul of the player seem almost 
to flow from the Angers without effort, so in these 
curious lives of ours great deeds are performed, as it 


320 


Royalized. 


were, spontaneously, while over the little worries we 
tiis: with acliins: hearts. But it is the little victories, 
after all, which upbuild character. Honor, all un- 
consciously, was growing very strong in that grace 
which she so earnestly desired to cultivate. Even 
Maud observed it, and was won to something of ad- 
miration in spite of herself. 

“ I must say, Honor, you surprise me,” she observed 
one day, turning to look curiously at her. I cannot 
understand you. Any one would know to look at 3^ou 
tliat you have a temper, and yet it never speaks or 
manifests itself.” 

Because it is held in check by a powerful will,” 
said her mother impressively. “ Don’t 3^011 admire 
that sort of strength, Maud — the ability to rein in 
every impulse of a tempestuous nature ? I must sa}^ 
it strikes me as magnificent, whether it be a gift or 
an acquirement.” 

‘‘ It is a gift,” Maud said hastily. Ho one ever 
yet acquired perfect self-control. Some -natures are 
constitutionally firmer than others, and then, I sup- 
pose, childish training has something to do with it, 
too. How Honor was brought up by that old maid 
aunt, who, I dare say, was primness and preciseness 
embodied, and her feet were, no doubt, easily set in 
the wa}^ they should go. Ho, mamma ; I cannot say 
that I positively admire this extreme self-restraint. 
It is apt to make one cold and unapproachable. An 
impulsive, outspoken nature, even if it does commit 
improprieties now and then, is far more attractive. 
Hobody likes icicles.” 

Excuse me,” said Honor, lifting her e3^es from her 
work to fix them upon her sister’s face, with an ex- 


Honor’s Hobby. 321 

pression of grave inquiry. What do you mean by 
icicles ? ” 

“ Something extremely cold and hard,” said Maud, 
with a shrug of her shoulders. “ Something glitter- 
ing with chilliness and severity, something that chills 
one if touched, and therefore is better let alone. Do 
you understand. Honor ? We warm-hearted Southern- 
ers are not accustomed to freezing. There may be a 
charm in the process, but we cannot be expected to 
appreciate it. We have not been educated to stiff- 
ness. 

“ If by stiffness you mean self-command it is a pity 
you had not been educated to it,” said her mother 
deprecatingly. “We should all have been spared a 
great deal of unpleasantness.” 

“ Well, I believe in spontaneity. Any thing but a 
person who is always guarding every look and word 
and act as if afraid of committing a sin.” 

“ And yet there is a good old book which bids us 
do just that thing,” observed Honor, with a grave 
smile. And there is no wdder freedom than that 
which it teaches. I suppose there is such a thing as 
controlled spontaneity. It is quite possible to train 
the heart to act and the lips to speak so that all their 
impulses will be beautiful. That is what I regard 
the highest type of self-control. Speaking and act- 
ing from ungoverned impulses may afford amuse- 
ment, but it can hardly be conducive to happiness. 
Just think, Maud, if you give expression to every 
angry, bitter, or annoyed feeling wdiicli crossed your 
mind.”. 

“Which I most certainly do,” interrupted Maud, 
with charming candor. “ I - bury no animosities or lia- 
21 


322 


Royalized. 


treds, cherish no hidden malice. I blaze out and have 
done with it, and consider that the best way. If 
every one did it there would be fewer gross sins com- 
mitted.” 

“If every one did it there would be very little 
peace on earth,” sighed the mother. 

“ There is very little as it is. Honor, don’t you 
prefer letting your temper boil over occasionally to 
nursing it up in your heart until it makes you bitter, 
and cross-grained, and morose, and all that ? ” 

“ I do not prefer either way,” responded Honor 
promptly ; “ for while a sullen, morose person is disa- 
greeable, one who is always ready to fly into a pas- 
sion is an object of absolute terror to me. I am in 
constant dread of hurting such a person’s feelings. I 
am oppressed with a sense of stepping near a pow- 
der-keg which is likely to explode before my eyes at 
any moment.” 

“ Let it explode, then. It amounts to nothing. 
A flash in a pan, and over in an instant. A breeze, 
now and then, purifles the air. It is realty enjoy- 
able.” 

“ Hot to most of us. Such breezes as that are any 
thing but beneficial. Ho, Maud ; no one has any 
right to plead a quick temper as an excuse for mak- 
ing other people miserable. God never created an 
ungovernable temper, and there can be no admission 
of weakness so great as that displayed by one who 
says, ‘ I cannot control my tempqi\’ I regard such a 
person with the same sort of pity I would feel for an 
idiot or any other unfortunate.” 

“ Come, come, now, Honor ; aren’t you getting a 
little beyond yourself now? For my part I would 


Honor’s Hobby. 


323 


rather people would let the storm of their wrath 
burst upon me than to store it up against a day of 
reckoning. I decidedly prefer to hear the worst at 
once, and done with it.” 

Well, I do not. No one ever says any thing in 
anger which is in any way wholesome, and a con- 
tinual harrowing up of one’s feelings is not desirable. 
These volcanic natures to whom periodical outbreaks 
are necessary would do well to betake themselves to 
solitary conlinement at such times as they feel the 
spasm coming on. They have no right to afflict other 
people with their infirmities.” 

“ You persist in calling it an infirmity,” said Maud 
irritably. I tell you. Honor, that simply shows 
your stiff New England training. The most brilliant 
and entertaining people, as a rule, are those of highly 
sensitive organization, and therefore easiest inclined 
to fits of passion. You admire such people as well 
as I do, and you cannot deny it.” 

“ I admire no undisciplined character, however 
brilliant or fascinating it may be,” said Honor em- 
phatically. “ Moreover, I have no respect for such a 
character.” 

‘‘I believe you are about half right,” said Mrs. 
Leroy musingly. “ Ungoverned tempers can make 
such havoc of domestic peace, and yet how many 
Christians there are in the world who, if truth were 
pronounced upon them, must come under this head ! ” 

Christians, yes ; or those who go by the name. 
The name amounts to very little without the stamp 
of Christ upon the character. In my eyes there is 
no greater wrong or absurdity than that which is 
committed by those who call themselves Christians, 


324 


Eoyalized. 


and yet give way to every evil passion which besets 
them, until worldly people are inspired with a dread 
of their very presence. Followers of the holy Jesus 
behavin<y like uno^overned children ! I have known 
the most trifling and giddy-minded people to turn 
away from this kind of Christian in disgust. They 
wouldn’t follow such an example for worlds — indeed, 
they wouldn’t. They have too much self-respect. 
O, there is nothing makes me so indignant as this 
type of Christianity.” 

“ It is possible that they repent of their sins in 
secret,” observed Maud, with a slight sneer. 

“ I have not a doubt of it, and at the very next 
temptation fall into the same error.” 

“Well, God has promised to forgive until seventy 
times seven ; hasn’t he ? Isn’t there some such thing 
in the Bible ? ” 

“ God promises forgiveness only in case of repent- 
ance and turning away, which I think means an hon- 
est eflbrt to overcome, and an honest effort is usually 
blessed with success, sooner or later. . Where you 
see constant giving way to an evil disposition you 
may be sure there is very little effort at overcoming 
exercised.” 

“ You are exceedingly filled with uncharitableness. 
Honor Leroy. Your doctrine is stern, cold, and in- 
tolerant. There is no beauty or loveliness in such a 
creed as yours.” 

“Perhaps not, but I believe there is such a thing 
as too much charity. We are not warranted in excus- 
ing that which is inexcusable.' No wise teacher per- 
mits a pupil to make the same blunders day after day 
without at length resorting to severe measures to cor- 


Honor’s Hobby. 


325 


rect them. Surely God’s wisdom is vastly more, and 
more comprehensive, than man’s. He will hardly 
overlook these constant errors of ours.” 

Maud arose with a yawn. 

“Really, Honor, your discourse is growing mo- 
notonous — too much in the same vein. I believe I’ll 
take a run out until time for the benediction. You 
can conclude your remarks to mamma. She seems in- 
terested and quite in sympathy.” 

Honor returned to her picture with a sigh. She 
had been all the forenoon working upon a bit of 
cloud. Somehow she could not get just the effect she 
desired. It needed just a single stroke from a skilled 
hand. A shade more here or less there was all that 
was required. A moment’s understanding work would 
produce the effect. She bent her head toward the 
canvas with burning cheeks. Honor did not possess 
the sublime patience of genius. It might come pos- 
sibly with the years, but as yet her nature was im- 
petuous, eager, grasping. She seized her brush 
now with a strong desire to draw it across the 
whole picture from end to end. There was noth- 
ing satisfactory about it — an .imperfect daub. Mrs. 
Leroy was looking over her shoulder with a critic’s 
eye. 

“It seems to me, Honor, I never saw you do so 
poorly,” she observed, with that complacent air with 
which people are apt to pass unfavorable judgment 
upon matters which concern them little. “ What is 
the matter ? Are you losing ground without a teacher, 
or is your interest failing ? ” 

“ Heither, I think. I have simply undertaken too 
difficult a study. There is no greater mistake than 


lioYALIZED. 


S2G 

attempting to do that which is beyond yon. l^ow I 
am going to put this picture away with its face to- 
ward the wall, and turn my whole attention to simple 
sky studies until I grow equal to this. Then I shall 
undertake it again with the greatest possible interest. 
I have no doubt in time I shall make something of 
it.” 

“ Well, you are a strange girl for a strong-willed 
one. Now, T never could give up in that way. If 1 
had undertaken a thing I should hnish it, even 
though I knew it to be beyond my capability.” 

“ And make a failure of it. I cannot afford to do 
that. There would be no satisfaction in it. I have 
heard of such a thing as controlled ambition. It is a 
grace worth cultivating.” 

“ Well, really. Honor, control is your hobby. Are 
you not making it a little too important ? ” 

“ I want to make it rank first,” said Honor, wiping 
the paint from her brush with scrupulous care, ‘‘ be- 
cause I believe that without it nothing in life can be 
accomplished properly.” 

“ Well,. I don’t know whom you are like — certainly 
not your father.” 

“ Why not ? ” asked a laughing voice, as Honor’s 
father himself came through the open door of an ad- 
joining room. “Do you regard me as an undisci- 
plined character ? ” 

‘‘ O no, my dear,” she answered hastily, in undis- 
guised confusion at the question. “ I only meant to 
indicate that Honor’s peculiar ideas were not inher- 
ited from you.” 

“ And what does Honor think about it ? ” he 
asked, turning to look curiously into his daughter s 


Honor’s Hobby. 


327 . 


face. “Do I belong to yonr much-condemned class, 
or do you make an exception in my favor ? ” 

Honor did not reply to this. She sat still, with a 
very uncomfortable consciousness of being driven to- 
ward a delicate point. 

“ Wily don’t you answer me ! ” he continued, in an 
annoyed tone. “ You have been mercilessly con- 
demning the whole race of weak mortals who act as 
nature made them. How, I ask, am I one of these 
unfortunates ? One desires to know how he stands 
in the opinion of so severe a censor.” 

Honor pushed back her easel and arose hastily. 

“ You must excuse me from any further expression 
of my opinion to-day,” she said in a half-laughing, half- 
vexed tone. “ I have already said too much, I per- 
ceive.” 

“ But you shall say more,” exclaimed Mr. Leroy, 
laying hold upon her as she was quitting the room. 
“ You shall tell me exactly your opinion of me in 
this respect. Do you or do you not believe me to be 
wanting in this pet virtue of yours. I wish and in- 
tend to have a direct answer.” 

Honor looked at him with eyes that did not flinch 
nor fall. 

“ I do,” she said in a decided tone. 

He pushed her from him with something like 
petulance. 

“ Thank you,” he said, his voice sounding cold and 
harsh. “ It is well to know how one’s character looks 
in the eyes of one’s own — ‘ to see oursel’s as others see 
us.’ You have at least the merit of boldness, my 
daughter. As for the fifth commandment, that is 
rather old-fashioned. Youthful ideas are entirely in 


328 


Koyalized. 


advance of the age in which it was spoken. You 
have had good teachers, Honor. You do them 
credit.” 

He arose and held the door open for Jier to pass 
out as he spoke, silencing any thing she might have 
said with an imperative wave of his hand. When 
she had gone he walked to the window and stared out 
with a heavy frown. Certainly the truth had a most 
unpleasant sound. 


Drops of Light. 


329 


xxy. 

DROPS OP LIGHT. 

“ Does the great glad sun, as he used to, rise ? 

Or is it ever a weary night ? 

A shadow has fallen across my eyes ; 

Come hither and tell me about the skies. 

Are there drops of rain, are there drops of light?” 

“ I WONDER if I would dare,” sighed Belle, lean- 
ing forward reflectively to consider herself in the 
tiny looking-glass. It was somewhat blurred and un- 
even, that old glass ; perhaps it did not tell the truth— 
possibly it was inclined to flatter — but certainly it was 
a very pretty face wliich it reflected, thought Belle, 
with a throb of gratified vanity. It was strange that 
people did not appreciate its beauty more. Such a 
straight little nose, such white and pink skin, such 
bright, fair hair ! Surely any girl in the land might 
be proud of such a face as that, and yet, somehow, it 
always failed of making an impression on any one ; 
while there was Birdie, little and dark, with nothing 
very attractive about her save a pair of startlingly 
large eyes and a quantity of rather soft, pretty curls, 
who used to possess power to make people stop in the 
street and look after her with admiring eyes. Of a 
truth, taste was decidedly lacking in this world. 

Belle tied a piece of black velvet about her neck 
and stepped back a pace, with her head on one side 
reflectively. How pearly fair her throat looked with 


830 


Eoyalized. 


til is foil against it. She tossed the fluffy bangs a lit- 
tle more carelessly upon her forehead. Surely no 
young lady in the city could boast of handsomer ones. 
As for her dress, it absolutely defied criticism ; from 
the little cape on her shoulders to the narrow plaiting 
at the bottom of her skirt it was faultless. But her 
hat was the greatest triumph, after all. She had sat 
up half the night to make it, and a grand success it 
was, with the scarlet wings and the black velvet bows. 
There was really nothing about her upon which the 
severest critic could lay a finger of remonstrance, 
Belle concluded, as she took a final survey of herself. 

This knowledge was power to-day, for Belle was 
bent upon making an impression — a lasting impres- 
sion, which should result in good to her all her life. 
The fact was, she was going to make a call upon her 
grandfather. She had met him face to face in the 
street yesterday . He had not recognized her, but that 
mattered little. In truth, she was glad he had not, as 
she had been in company which she was sure he would 
have considered decidedly objectionable. It was much 
better that he should not know her under such cir- 
cumstances. She knew him, however, at a glance, 
and she had followed him all the way to his hotel, 
watched him go up the marble steps and in the dooi*, 
waited a full hour at the entrance to see that he did 
not come out, and then, concluding that he meant to 
stay, she decided upon her course of action. She 
would make herself as fair as possible, and then storm 
the castle of his obdurate heart. She had heard that 
beauty was the most potent influence which could be 
brought to bear upon the hearts of men. She was 
resolved to test it to its utmost. If she failed it 


Drops of Light. 


331 


should be through no negligence of her own. She 
drew on her gloves, therefore, with an air of great 
complacency. 

Certainly the old gentleman, stern and inflexible as 
he might be, could not look unmoved upon such help- 
less loveliness as this. He was sure to yield to her 
direct persuasions-, and then, O joy ! there would be 
no more living in a garret, no more counting pennies 
to see how many it would take to make a dollar, no 
more doing distasteful, wearisome things, no more 
being compelled to endure the presence of a beastly 
drunkard whenever he chose to inflict it. O, what 
happiness was in store for her if she only played 
her cards skillfully ! Of course, it would be a little 
trying to leave Grand — poor Grand, who had been 
kind in spite of his faults ; it might seem a little 
heartless to leave him to fight the battle alone, but 
then the battle was one of his own choosing ! There 
was no compulsion. He could have this opportunity 
for the simple acceptance. One word from him 
wmuld have set them both free, but that word he 
doggedly refused to speak ; therefore let him abide 
by the consequences. He had no right to bind her 
to poverty and disgrace ; neither, indeed, had he any 
desire to do so. He had told her a thousand times 
that it was the hardest part of his trial that his atten- 
tion to duty must stand in the way of her enjoyment 
and advantage. She had taken him at his word now. 
He would see, perhaps, how life would go without 
her. Hot that the prospect of losing her was likely 
to alter his determination in the least. She had fully 
tested the strength of his purpose. JS’othing could 
shake it. Grand had all the spirit of a true soldier. 


332 


Royalized. 


He could endure hardship without flinching, but he 
would see, perhaps, after all, that it was not so easy 
to get on without giddy-headed Belle as he thought. 
What a triumph it would be to come home and tell 
him that she had succeeded in softening her grandfa- 
ther’s heart ! How surprised he would be ! Cha- 
grined too, no doubt, despite his reiterated declara- 
tions that he would be glad to see her happily 
situated. 

These reflections hurried through Belle’s mind as 
she pushed and jostled through the crowd on her way 
to interview her grandfather. Many times during 
that walk it occurred to her to wonder again if she 
really dared, but still she pushed ahead vigorously. 
Faint heart, she assured herself, never won any thing 
that was fair. 

Belle was not greatly troubled with diffldence ; 
nevertheless she felt her heart beating quite tumultu- 
ously as she sat in the parlor of the hotel awaiting the 
entrance of her grandfather. He might not be pleased 
to see her. Indeed, the probabilities were he would 
be exceedingly displeased to see her. Well, what 
then ? She must put the boldest possible face upon 
the matter, and win him over. She sent up no name. 
“Simply tell him a young lady wishes to see him,” 
she said to the boy who demanded her card. Belle 
never had a card in her life. If she had a card-case 
filled she would not think of sending one to him. 
He must have no idea who it was until she burst upon 
him in the full glory of her fine feathers. 

He came stepping in, at length, erect and dignified. 
Poor Belle had no idea how dignified he was until 
she saw him here. He had been so moved .by strong 


Deops of Light. 


333 

emotion that night in the little attic-room that he lost 
a trifle of his stateliness. Here, however, he was at 
home, and consequently himself. Belle groaned in 
spirit as she saw him approaching the corner where 
she sat. She had not dreamed that he could be so 
imposing. If she had she would have hesitated long 
before she plunged into this uncertain scheme. There 
was nothing to do now, however, but make the best 
of it. 

“ Do you remember me, sir ? ’’ she asked rather 
faintly, rising and holding out her neatly gloved hand 
as she spoke. 

He accepted the hand, not very cordially, and gave 
her a keen glance. 

‘‘ I remember you,” he said, bowing stiffly. 

Belle felt herself growing red and uncomfortable. 
How she was to proceed she could not think. The 
idea of asking that stern, stately old gentleman to 
retract the words he had spoken seemed preposterous. 

‘‘You wished to see me?” he asked, wdth chilling 
politeness, as the pause grew awkward. 

Yes, sir,” stammered Belle, plunging into her sub- 
ject confusedly. “ I wanted to ask you if you couldn’t 
possibly forget Grand’s foolishness, and — and — ” 

“ Am I to understand that your brother has re- 
pented his decision ? ” interrupted Mr. Le Grand, a 
sudden sun-flash in his eyes. 

Grand repented ! O, no. He’ll never do that. 
He’s not one of the kind that gives up. But I thought 
— that is, I didn’t know but you might may be recall 
what you said about not separating us. I’ve tried 
every way in my power to turn Grand, and it seems 
a pity, do^’t it, sir ? that I must be the victim of his 


334 


Koyalizp:d. 


stubborn notions. It’s very bard for me, sir — yon 
have no idea liowliard — living with such a man as my 
father. I can’t begin to tell you how it disgusts me, 
and you are all alone in the world. I would be so 
very good to you, sir, if you will only let me come 
and live with you.” 

“ But I am not alone in the world,” said her grand- 
father, smiling a little at her confused eagerness. “I 
have a good-sized family at Gleiidyn now.” 

“Who? O, Aunt Mildred, from the South, I sup- 
pose ; but she wouldn’t mind would she ? How many 
children has she ? ” 

“ Four, at present.” 

“ O, that is not so many. She could find room for 
me. Pm not a child. I wouldn’t make any one the 
least bit of trouble, and it would make me so happy 
— happier than any thing in the world. Do, please 
say you will take me, grandfather ! ” 

Mr. Le Grand studied the fioor musingly. Per- 
haps he had a duty toward this girl. It was a shame 
that his granddaughter must grow up in the city 
slums, her young life hampered and oppressed by the 
constant imposition of a drunken father. It did seem 
a thousand pities; but, then, she was Hugh Gilmore’s 
child. So, indeed, were Grand and Birdie, but they 
were endowed with all the personal and mental graces 
of the Le Grands. Poor Belle, alas 1 was the very 
refiection of Hugh Gilmore. That explained his re- 
pugnance to her. Mr. Le Grand was a proud man ; 
he was a strong-willed man ; he was also a selfish man. 
The thought of having the fair, weak, babyish face of 
this girl forever haunting his fireside, raking up, as it 
would be sure to do, the bitter, irretrievable past, was 


Drops of Light. 


335 - 


unbearable. If her brother had come, he could have 
borne her, he thought, as a necessary evil, but in no 
other way could he think of accepting Belle. She 
repelled him in every particular. She would always 
repel him. He might put her in school, and so relieve 
his repugnance and his conscience, but it did not strike 
him that she w’ould do well anywhere except under 
the eyes of strict guardianship. She looked so utterly 
characterless, so insipid, so vain. She was better otf 
where she was, no doubt. Nothing could make her 
worthy of the Le Grands. Why, her face was simply 
that of a painted doll. Even Maud, sullen and heavy- 
eyed as she was, was a princess beside this baby-faced 
creature. No, Mr. Le Grand resolved, setting his lips 
tirmly, he would take no responsibility of this kind 
upon him. If he could not discharge his duty in his 
own way he would not discharge it at all. 

Belle was watching his meditation with very eager 
eyes. He did not look at her. That was an unfavor- 
able symptom. It could scarcely be that he was not 
struck by her appearance, but he certainly kept his 
eyes very persistently away from her. Perhaps the 
siffht of her affected him. It must be that she had 

o 

made an impression of some kind, else why this 
studied avoidance ? If he would only speak. The 
silence was growing intolerable. 

hope you don’t consider me bold in coming to 
you,” she said at length, faltering desperately. “ It 
seemed as if I must do it.” 

He bowed his head coldly. 

“You had a right to do it,” he said, looking at her 
with something of an effort. “I can find no fault 
with you, since I was the first to suggest the idea which 


336 


Eoyalized. 


seems to have taken possession of you. I have re- 
gretted it deeply since. Had I been better acquainted 
with your brother’s character I should never have 
made the advance.” 

‘‘But Grand and I are different people,” put in 
Belle eagerly. 

“I am fully conscious of that,” he went on, inter- 
rupting the appeal which trembled on her lips. 
“ Grand is certainly a very extraordinary young per- 
son. It is your duty, I think, to cling to him. He is 
kind to you ; is he not?” 

“ In his way, yes ; but he can do very little for me, 
and then, there is my father, you know.” 

A slight frown contracted the broad forehead, and 
Mr. Le Grand said : 

“ We will not enter upon that subject, if you please. 
It is unfortunate that j^our existence should be thus 
marred, but your brother’s presence shields ^mu greatly 
from annoyance. I am sorry to disappoint you — sorry 
that you should have set your heart upon any hopes 
which I may inadvertently have raised. It will be 
quite impossible for me to permit a separation between 
yourself and Grand.” 

“But why?” burst forth the girl passionately. 
“He doesn’t need me — doesn’t want me — that I 
know. If I were away he would have one less to pro- 
vide for. Why will you not separate us ? ” 

“ Because I have said so. I am not in the habit of 
retracting my words,” was the response, rather haugh- 
tily, very sternly spoken. “ I positively decline to dis- 
cuss the matter farther, or listen to any more argu- 
ments on your part. When your brother is ready to 
accept my proposal, I am ready to stand by my agree- 


Dkops of Light. 337 

iiient. I wish yon to consider this final, decisive, and 
unalterable.” 

Belle arose with burning cheeks and angry eyes. 
There was nothing more to say after this. She had 
made a great effort and failed. She went out from 
the presence of her grandfather filled with bitterness 
against him which amounted to positive hatred. She 
never wanted to look upon his face again. She 
hoped some terrible calamity would overtake him, 
and that sorrow, suffering, and misfortune would be 
his portion henceforth and forever. As for Grand, 
no words could express her anger toward him. He 
deserved to have every possible evil visited upon him. 
She sped home with flying footsteps, dashed up the long 
dark stairway, stumbling as she went, and, once inside 
her own door, tore ofi her hat and gloves, and threw 
herself upon the floor, sobbing like an angry child. 

It was thus that Grand found her when he came 
in at dusk, her head in a chair, her cheeks burning, 
and her hands spasmodically clinched. 

‘‘Well, what’s the row?” he asked, staring down 
at her, greatly discomfited. His voice roused Belle’s 
half-spent passion to a fury. She sprang to her feet 
and dashed upon him, seizing him roughly by the 
arm. 

“ I hate you. Grand Gilmore, hate you ! ” she 
screamed violently. “ You’re the meanest creature 
that walks the earth. I wish you were dead, I do. 
I hope every bad thing on earth will happen to you. 
I could stand by and see you shot with pleasure.” 

Grand held her ofif, smiling rather provokingly. 
Belle’s violence never dismayed or surprised him. He 
had been accustomed to these outbreaks all his life. 


338 


Kotalized. 


‘‘Why, what have I done?” he asked coolly, sur- 
veying her with curious eyes. 

“You’ve ruined my whole life,” answered Belle, 
angrily ; “ that’s what you have done. 'I’ll never for- 
give you, never ! ” 

“ O it’s the old string you are harping on, is it ? I 
thought .something new had turned up. Why, child, 
where is the use in working yourself into a passion 
over that old affair. It does no good, you know, and 
it’s such a waste of force. You have expressed your 
opinion pretty freely in times past. I’m very sorry, 
you know, to be the means of holding you back from 
the good things of life, but I have no choice in the 
matter. I am perfectly helpless.” 

“You are not helpless; you know you are not. 
You have only to yield yonr stubborn will and our 
fortune is made, yours as well as mine.” 

“ But I will not yield,” said Grand quietly. “ That 
was settled long ago. Is there any thing else in my 
power to do for you ? If there is, you have only to 
mention it.” 

“Well, there is,” said Belle, looking up with a sud- 
den light in her eyes. “ There’s just one thing. You 
can go to grandfather and beseech him to take me. 
He is fond of you. Your word would have great 
weight with him.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” asked Grand, with flashing 
eyes. “ That you want me to beg a favor of Grand- 
father Le Grand ? ” 

“O no, of course not. You’re far too proud for 
that ; you’d rather have us all go to the dogs along 
with our noble father. Thank goodness I’m not 
troubled with that kind of pride. I went to see the 


Drops of Light. 


339 


old gentleman this afternoon and actually besought 
him to take me home with him.” 

“ You went to see him ! AVhere ? ” 

“ At the hotel where he is stopping.” 

‘‘And you condescended to beseech his favor?” 

“ I did condescend to just that. You needn’t look 
so white and overpowering, Grand Gilmore. It is 
just your stubbornness that has forced the necessity 
upon me. I’m not going to submit to lejtling a 
beggar’s life without a struggle, just to please you.” 

“And your struggle proved unsuccessful, I pre- 
sume ? ” 

“ Of course it did, and all on account of you. 
‘ When your brother is ready to accept my proposal 
I am ready to stand by my agreement,’ he said, and 
with the words fairly shut the door on me — the abom- 
inable old thing ! ” 

Grand shut his lips tightly and walked across the 
floor before he trusted himself to speak. He was 
vexed beyond endurance. It would have been a 
great relief to have permitted the storm of his wrath 
to burst in its fury. What had his life been but one 
long, unrequited struggle ? What else could it be to 
the end ? He walked to the window, and looked out 
hopelessly. There was a man reeling from side to 
side on the opposite pavement. He caught at the 
lamp-post for support, and leaned his bloated cheek 
against it. Grand’s teeth closed firmly over his 
under lip, and a deep crimson glow mounted to his 
forehead. It was not alone the man for whom he 
was blushing, not alone his father, but his whole coun- 
try ; this brave land which had ridden triumphantly 
over tyranny and rebellion, but still failed to show 


340 


Eoyalized. 


itself strong enough to sti’ike one deadly blow at this 
gigantic evil which trailed itself, serpent-like and hor- 
rible, from shore to shore. 

Grand’s brave, strong spirit chafed restlessly under 
contemplation of wrong like this. He never felt his 
utter helplessness so grievously. He was only one of 
the millions. What could he do? Alas! he could 
nof even keep back one pair of feet from the pitfall 
of destruction. 

Belle stole softly up behind him to the window and 
looked over his shoulder. A bitter sneer distigured 
her pretty mouth. 

‘v Charming, isn’t it?” she said, pointing toward 
the picture down there. “ And to continue such a life 
as that you have sacrificed the life-long happiness of 
two people, yourself and me. Is the game worth 
the candle ? ” 

Grand turned and looked at her helplessly. If he 
could only set her free! The thought of her un- 
willing bondage galled him beyond expression. Was 
there no help for it? Must he see the golden hair 
turn gray and the round, rosy cheeks grow fur- 
rowed and seared in this unwilling service? He 
shook off her hand from his shoulder irritably ; its 
light weight seemed to bear him down. Truly, life 
was exceedingly hard at this moment. For the first 
time since his grandfather’s visit there darted upon 
him a sudden, strong temptation. Was the game 
worth the candle ? Was there any law on earth 
which required that he should make all their lives 
a sacrifice to that demon which had placed its vile 
clutch upon one? Was there any law of heaven 
which forced this necessity upon him ? He crossed 


Drops of Light. 


SU 

the room, took down his Bible, and turned over its 
leaves abstractedly. “ Thou shalt honor thy father 
and thy mother,” the words read. There was noth- 
ing about wrecking all one’s hopes and happiness to 
serve them. Well, what was there to strengthen his 
wavering decision ? Ah ! his eyes lit up as with a 
sunburst. “ He that loseth his life for my sake shall 
hnd it.” 

After that it was very easy to take up the burden 
of life again. There was no burden in it, nothing 
but the joyfulness of a golden promise. He went 
back to his sister with a smile that shone even into 
the darkness and misery of her discouraged heart. 

“ Belle, we’ll not give up just yet,” he said, a ring 
of something like exultation making his voice 
musical. ‘‘ Our ship’s sure to come in some day. 
There’s a bright side to all this. I meant to tell you, 
when I first came in, that Mr. Avery offered me a 
position in his law office to-day at a very fair salary. 
Isn’t that a stroke of fortune ? JSTo telling what it 
may lead to. So keep up a good heart, for right is 
sure to win in the long run.” 


342 


Royalized. 


XXYL 

LENGTHENED SHADOWS. 

“ This life of ours is a wild aeolian liarp 
Of many a joyous strain, 

But under all there runs a loud perpetual wail 
As of souls in pain.” 

Outside, rain, wind, gloom, and darkness. Inside, 
summer warmth and shaded lights, rare flowers and 
faint, sweet perfumes, music, laughter, and happi- 
ness. Yes, happiness beyond words to one at least 
of the group around the fireside at Glendjm to- 
night. Maud’s face was all smiles, her voice all 
sweetness ; even Le Grand’s disagreeable insinuations 
bore no sting in them this time. For had not the car- 
riage just brought Ricliard Avery from the depot — 
Richard Avery himself, hona fide flesh and blood, 
and no dream — and was he not standing in the very 
center of the ordinary group, his handsome face 
ruddy and sparkling, his eyes beaming with utter 
good-will and contentment upon one and all ? It was 
many days since Maud had looked upon his face, not, 
indeed, since they had parted in the rare Soutliern 
twilight, and all the summer long had been spent 
in vainly dreaming and sighing .for his presence. 
Somehow every scheme had proved a failure that 
summer, as far as meeting Mr. Avery was concerned. 
Neither at . watering-place, mountains, or seashore 
had he dawned upon Maud’s anxious vision. So 


Lengthened Shx\dows. ?Ao 

there was nothing do at last but write and ask, nay, 
urge him to visit Glendyn, and lo ! he had responded 
to the invitation with a promptness which savored 
decidedly of eagerness. He must liave been more 
than glad to come, thought Maud, with a glowing 
heart. 

“ This is truly delightful,” he was saying at this 
moment, standing with his back to the rudd}^ blaze 
of the fire and letting his eyes rove over the beautiful 
old-fashioned room, with its rich carpet and rare pict- 
ures, its antique vases, overflowing witli vines and 
flowers ; its crimson and gold curtains ; its frail, pret- 
ty bric-a-brac, and its attractive center-table, around 
which were clustered smiling faces, which turned 
toward the newly arrived guest with great cordiality. 

“You are wise in clinging to old customs, Mr. Le 
Grand. These open fires possess a rare charm. I am 
inclined to think our ancestors enjoyed their homes 
more than we of the present day and generation. 
How, such a fire as this warms 'one to the very heart. 
I caught its reflection from the windows half a mile 
away. Whew ! What a night ! Don’t draw the cur- 
tains, Miss Whitney, I entreat. If there are any poor 
wanderers abroad to-night do permit them at least a 
glimpse of home. They will be better for it, if not 
happier.” 

Maud withdrew her hand from the curtain and 
turned about with a radiant smile. 

“ What an unpractical being ! How, there is no 
telling how many tramps we shall have haunting our 
door-steps to-night, or perhaps lodging in the barn, 
and setting fire to the hay, all for the gratification of 
a poetical fancy.” 


344 


Eoyalized. 


“ No, not poetical ; eminently practical, I think. 
There was a wretched-looking fellow in the seat be- 
hind me to-night on the train, who got off at the 
station and stumbled along in the darkness. A mis- 
erable face he had — not wicked, only weak and dis- 
tressed. He kept his hand over his eyes mostly. At 
the depot I made an advance toward him, asking if 
I could be of any assistance, he looked so utterly 
wretched standing there on the platform; but he 
only shook his head and started away hurriedly, as if 
my attempt at good Samaritanism had startled him. 
We passed him on the road stumbling along with his 
hat drawn over his eyes, and the heavy rain pelting 
him mercilessly. Poor fellow ! I hope he was going 
home.” 

Maud shrugged her shoulders. 

“ Really, you make me nervous,” she said, shaking 
her head at him. ‘‘Now I shall be conjuring up all 
sorts of horrors in the shape of that drenched, miser- 
able-looking tramp plodding along the highway to- 
ward Glendyn. How do you know that he was not 
an escaped convict ? What proof have you that he 
was not even a murderer, whose hands were stained 
with innocent blood ?” 

“ Do not be alarmed. Miss Whitney ; he was noth- 
ing of the sort. Trust a lawyer to know a rogue when 
he sees him. This poor fellow was simply an unfort- 
unate being who suffers the consequences of a wasted 
or a shipwrecked life ; the former, I imagine.” 

“Well, I only hope he wasn’t coming here,” 
laughed Maud. “We have no room for unfortunates 
of that class.” 

“ No danger of his coming here,” drawled Le 


Lengthened Shadows. 


345 


Grand. He wouldn’t be likely to proceed inucli 
beyond the gates if he attempted it. Old Tige is 
death on tramps. It would be the most unfortunate 
step which that unfortunate man ever took if he put 
his foot inside the gates of Glendyn at night.” 

‘‘You had better chain the dog up, then, if there 
is any danger of a tragedy of that sort,” said his 
grandfather gravely. “ I should not want even a 
tramp sent adrift on such a night as this.” 

“ Since when did you develop a spirit of benevo- 
lence for your fellow-beings ? ” asked Le Grand, grin- 
ning impertinently. 

The old gentleman flashed a stern glance at him. 

“ 1 have always possessed it, sir,” he said sharply. 
“ I never willingly permit a beggar to be turned away 
from my doors cold or hungry. It is time that 
every member of my household fairly understood 
that.” 

“ Kinder to strangers than to his own flesh and 
blood,” commented Honor mentally, bending her head’ 
a little that the involuntary curl of her lip might not 
betray her thought. 

A young girl who had been sitting in the shadow 
now came forward eagerly. There was a bloom like 
wild roses in her cheeks, and an intensely entreating 
look in her eyes. 

“ Did you notice the man’s looks particularly, Mr. 
Avery?” she asked, her voice wavering a little as she 
felt the eyes of all the group suddenly turned upon 
her. 

Mr. Avery looked at her keenly for an instant, not 
curious, but questioning. The eager face raised to his 
own was lovely beyond any thing he ever remembered 


3^6 


Eoyalized. 


to liave seen before, with the red firelight deepening 
and softening it. He recalled her being introduced 
to him as Kose — ‘‘ our Eose ” they had called her. 
She was one of them, evidently. The stamp of Le 
Grand was visible upon every curve and turn of her 
beautiful face and head. What was it she had asked 
him ? O ! 

‘‘What, another anxious heart?” he said lightly. 
“ Eeally I must have a care whereof I speak here- 
after. What manner of man was he? Well, I’m 
not good at describing. I should say he was in the 
neighborhood of forty or forty-five, tall and thickset, 
with the appearance of one who might have been a 
hard drinker. His hair was slightly gray ; his eyes 
being shut most of the time I cannot assert as to their 
color, and across his left cheek there was a deep pur- 
ple scar.” 

“ Why, Birdie, child, what on eartli is the matter ? ” 
cried Mrs. Leroy, rising hastily and coming forward 
to seize the girl’s hands, for Birdie’s face had turned 
suddenly white as a snow-drift. “* Are you so fright- 
ened as that ? Why, there isn’t the least bit of dan- 
ger, you little goose. Tige wont let any such fellow 
in here to-night; and if he did, what could one man 
do?” 

“ Nothing, nothing at all!” said Birdie eagerly. 
“ Tliere is no possibility of his doing any thing.” 

“ Then what are you going so white about? Do 
you want to frighten the rest of us, little tragedy 
([ueen ?” 

“ I don’t want to frighten any body. I didn’t 
know I turned white. It is the heat, I suppose. I 
was so near the blaze. I will go to the door a mo- 


Lengthened Shadows. 347 

Hient and catch a breath of the damp air. The room 
seems close to me.” 

Well, don’t go out, my dear ; and throw your scarf 
about your throat.” 

“ You are sure you are not afraid to go to the door 
alone?” asked Mr. Leroy mockingly. ‘‘Suppose a 
man with a slouched hat and a scar across his cheek 
should spring out at you from the darkness? Would 
it not be better for some one to accompany you ? ” 

“ O no, no ! I’ll be back in a moment.” 

Birdie was something of an actress. She succeeded 
in keeping the quiver of excitement out of her voice 
and maintaining an air of serene composure, but once 
alone in the cool hall, she felt the long shivers creep- 
ing over her from head to foot. What if it were too 
late ! Her hands shook as they undid the huge old- 
fashioned bolt. What if Tige were not lying in his 
usual place upon the door-mat ! Yes, there he was, 
thank heaven ! huge, black, and pompous as ever, lis- 
tening to the heavy fall of the rain with his great 
head lying on his fore-paws, his eyes half shut, and 
his ears hanging meekly down. Evidently he was 
enjoying the rainfall, since not a drop could reach his 
shaggy, comfortable self. 

Birdie seized an umbrella that stood near and laid 
her hand upon the dog’s silver collar. 

“ Come, Tige,” she whispered ; “ come, old fellow.” 

He arose obediently, wagging his tail in token of 
his pleasure at the welcome sound of her voice. He 
was fond of Birdie. He went with her down the 
steps and out in the rain to the dog-house without a 
protest. He allowed her to make him fast, crawling 
in with supreme content. In her great relief Birdie 


US 


Royalized. 


stooped down and pressed lier beantifnl lips to his 
wet, black nose. 

“Now go to sleep, dear old Tige, and don’t wake 
up again till morning,” she said, and hurried back 
through the wet darkness to the piazza, reaching its 
shelter panting and breathless, but thankful, O so 
thankful ! Her boots were soaked, but then she 
could change them in a moment. No one would sus- 
pect what she had been doing. 

When she re-entered the drawing-room all her fine 
color had returned, and her face resumed its accus- 
tomed placidity. 

“ Evidently you encountered nothing fearful in the 
darkness,” remarked Mr. Leroy, turning to look at 
her with a quizzical gleam in his eyes. . “ You saw 
no ghost, no ghoul, no deatli’s-head, or, worse still, no 
wan-faced, hollow-eyed man witli a purple scar across 
his left cheek, I presume ? ” 

“ No,” said Birdie, trying to smile, but feeling a 
very perceptible shiver passing over her slight frame, 
which she knew would not escape the laughing eyes. 

“ You really are frightened, you small woman. 
What an imagination you must be gifted with ! ’ How 
dared you brave the terrors of the night without a 
protector ? I wonder, now, if you could be induced 
to charm this merry company by a song, and thereby 
lose your vague apprehensions in the exercise of your 
bewitching art ? ” 

“ Yes, do sing ! ” put in Mrs. Leroy eagerly. “ Let 
us have that new gem from the Italian opera that I 
heard you practicing yesterday. It struck me as ad- 
mirably adapted to your voice.” 

Birdie hesitated, looking into the fire with big, 


Lengthened Shadows. 349 

solemn eyes. She would much prefer to remain si- 
lent to-night. 

Come, come,” said Maud irritably, if you are 
going to sing, sing, or else decline positively. I hate 
to see a young lady waiting to be coaxed.” 

“ I decline, then,” said Birdie quietly, though the 
crimson tide surged to her forehead. 

“Not with my consent,” spoke Mr. Le Grand from 
out the depths of his easy chair. “ I desire you to 
comply with the request of the company at once. 
You certainly cannot plead either timidity or indis- 
position.” 

Birdie advanced slowly toward the piano, casting 
furtive glances at the windows. She almost wished 
she might drop the curtains, which, at Mr. Avery’s 
request, still remained looped back, exposing the 
whole room to view. But no ; to change them now 
would look strange, whimsical, cowardly, no doubt, 
and Birdie was no coward ; moreover, she had no rel- 
ish for being thought so. 

She struck a few chords strongly, then her voice arose 
and swelled through the room with a sort of passionate 
power that held all listeners as by a spell. Even Le 
Grand was forced to raise his dull eyes and turn them 
toward her in vague curiosity. She had never let 
her voice out like this before. Who would have 
dreamed that it was capable of such wonderful ex- 
pression ? Mr. Avery listened, at first idly, then with 
startled surprise. Was it a child’s singing ? Surely 
no child ever woke the echoes like this before. Why, 
it was magnificent. The voice had a peculiar charm 
which he never remembered to have noticed in any 
other. 


350 


Royalized. 


It was at once clear as a silver bell and yet soft 
and tender like the note of a young robin. Her con- 
trol of it was wonderful, he thouglit, as it came sud 
denly down from that splendid fullness to the faint- 
est carolings, each note dropping from her lips pure 
as a transparent pearl. Suddenly, as she had begun, 
she closed her song, letting the last notes die away 
like the breathing of a tired child. 

Mr. Avery arose, crossed the room to the piano, 
and held out his hand with a grave smile. 

Allow me to congratulate you. Miss — ” 

“ Gilmore,” she supplied hastily, placing her hand 
in his. 

He started a little at the sound of that name, and 
clasped, the soft hand with sudden force. 

“ Gilmore ? ” he repeated involuntarily, Gilmore ? 
I beg your pardon, I thought you were a Le Grand.” 

“ And so she is, every inch,” interrupted her grand- 
father emphatically. “ Her mother was my youngest 
daughter. Sing again, my dear. I had no idea your 
voice had gained so much. You have been some- 
what chary of your favors in letting us hear it. Give 
us one of those simple ballads which you used to be so 
continually warbling before you left us. I hope you 
have not entirely lost your taste for simple melodies. 
There was one which used particularly to please my 
fancy — an evening hymn of some sort ; I have for- 
gotten the title. Search the caverns of your mem- 
ory and unearth it if you can.” 

The small fingers swept the keys again with a touch 
light, this time, as the fall of rose-leaves. Richard 
Avery leaned across the piano, and studied the hands 
and face intently. His gaze did not embarrass or dis- 


Lengthened Shadows. 


351 - 


turb the singer in the least. Evidently her whole 
soul was in her song. He could not see her eyes, for 
they were bent steadily downward, the long, dark 
lashes nearly sweeping her cheek. 

‘•Face and figure of a child,” thought the young 
man, noting, with pleasure, the exquisite profile, clear- 
cut and perfect as a cameo, and then looking down at 
the plump, small fingers which held the keys of the 
splendid instrument with such wonderful power in 
their grasp. 

“Though too calm, you think, and tender, 

For the childhood you would lend her,” 

he finished mentally as the rich pathos of her voice 
smote his ear. 

“Why vex our souls with wearing care, 

Wliy shun the grave for aching head so cool and low, 

Have we found life so passing fair. 

So grand to be^ so sweet, that we 
Should dread to go ? ” 

“ Some other hand the task can take. 

If so it seemeth best, the task by us begun, 

No work for whicli we need to wake 
In joy or grief for life so brief 
Beneath the sun.” 

Surely no one could have trained the child to throw 
such expression as this into her tones. That tender, 
touching sadness could only spring from a heart that 
throbbed in sympathy with human sorrow. What 
life experience could this happy child have known to 
render her capable of entering into'the pathetic spirit 
of that old hymn? Was it possible for art to be 
made thus closely’ to resemble nature? Truly there 
was a charming mystery about this girl. He watched 


352 


Royalized. 


her a little more furtively. ^Slie did not seem aware 
of his gaze, but perhaps, after all, slie was not the 
innocent bit of nature he thought her. Such simple, 
old-fashioned girlhood was rare in these days. All 
the while she might be fully conscious of the admira- 
tion which his face was speaking so eloquently. 
'Without looking at him perhaps she felt it all. Girls 
of this age were not apt to lose themselves in art to 
this extent. Dropping into a chair near the piano, 
and shading his face with his hand, he observed her 
suddenly raise her eyes and dart a startled glance 
toward the window opposite her. She stared an in- 
stant as if fascinated. Her color came and went, her 
fingers dropped trembling from the keys, and the 
song ended abruptly. 

Mrs. Leroy arose with some alacrity of manner. 

Thank you, my dear,” she said, smiling toward the 
singer. “ You are very entertaining, but I cannot 
allow your charms to beguile us into forgetting more 
sordid enjoyments and duties. Supper has been wait- 
ing for some moments. We shall find stale coffee if 
we linger mucli longer.” 

She led the way briskly, the rest of the party fol- 
lowing leisurely. 

Birdie waited until the room was clear; then, glid- 
ing softly into tlie hall, she slid back the bolt once 
more, and slipped out on the piazza again. 


In the Kain. 


353 


XXYII. 

IN THE RAIN. 

“ I heard faith’s low. sweet singing in the niglit, and groping in the 
darkness touched God’s hand.” 

She covered her eyes a moment to accustom them 
to the change, then peered anxiously out into the thick 
darkness. The rain still fell in torrents, but the wind 
liad ceased to whistle and moan among the leafless 
branches. At this moment the air was soft and warm. 
Coming out of the heated room, the gentle coolness 
refreshed the young girl, and lifted a trifle of the 
weight from her spirit. Could she have been mis- 
taken, then? Washer imagination so vivid as this? 
or was there a heavy footstep crunching the gravel 
out there. She hastened to the end of the piazza, and 
leaned across the railing, listening breathlessly. Surely, 
there was something stirring beneath the trees yonder. 

‘‘Father!” she called softly. 

There was a decided movement now, and a heavy 
form grew out of the thick, deep gloom. It advanced 
slowly to where the brilliant light from the windows 
streamed across the mist. 

Birdie clasped both hands tightly over her rapidly 
beating heart. 

“ Is it you, father ? ” she asked breathlessly. 

He came up to where she stood, and lifted his face 
to her with a glad smile. 

23 


854 


Royalized. 


“ My white rose ! ” he said. “ How did you know 
I was iiere ? ” 

‘‘I don’t know. I felt it somehow — people do 
have such experiences, I believe. I felt sure that 
you were somewhere in the grounds to-night, and 
tlien, you know, I saw your face at the window, and 
recognized it.” 

“ My child, was I so near as that ? ” 

“Your face was almost touching the pane. It was 
a bold thing to do. I was in mortal terror for an in- 
stant lest some one else should catch a glimpse of it. 
Come up here, out of the rain.” 

He sprang up the steps eagerly, almost like a boy. 
His face was ashy pale as the light touched it, and his 
clothes were dripping small streams upon the polished 
floor of the piazza. Birdie caught his hands in alarm. 

“Father, you are sick ! ” she cried, shivering at their 
icy coldness. 

“ Sick ? No, child. I never was better in my life. 
Feel my pulse, how strong it beats. Birdie, my dar- 
ling, have they told you what a little queen you are 
growing ? Ah, there’s not a prouder man in the land 
to-night than Hugh Gilmore.” 

Birdie looked at him sharply. He could not have 
been drinking. He was too cold and pale for that. 
He was shivering from head to foot. 

“ What brought you here to-night in this terrible 
storm ? ” she asked, trying to speak indifferently. 

“ Why, is it storming ? I scarcely realized it. To 
me it is a glorious night. I came to see my Rosalie. 
It is so long, long, long since they took you away. 
Let me see ; eighteen years, is it not ? ” 

Birdie’s hands clinched his in wild alarm. 


In the Eain. 


355 


^‘Father, what is the matter? Are you crazy, or 
have you been drinking ? Tell me.” 

He laughed softly, and, placing his hand beneath her 
chin, raised her face so that the light streamed upon it. 

“ Drinking ? O, my bonny Rose, I’ll never drink 
again, now that you’ve come back to me out of 
heaven.* Ah! what a lovely face it is! Ha! they 
have kept you on flowers and dew up there, have they 
not? They have turned you back into a rare and 
radiant maiden, lovelier even than when I first knew 
you, in the days when I read Tennyson to you down 
in the grotto yonder. Come, let us go.” 

“ Father ! ” cried the girl, with whitening cheeks, 
“ don’t you know me ? You did at first. You called 
me Birdie. Have you forgotten ? ” 

“Ho; it was Birdie I came to see; but I found 
Rosalie instead. My own Rosalie. Come, darling ; 
let us go away together. This is no place to stop 
even for a night. He hates me, the proud man in 
yonder. All the Le Grands hate me ; but what care 
I when my royal white rose defies them with her own 
noble grace. Come, my queen.” 

“ Father,” said Birdie, very sharply this time, “you 
liave either been drinkins:, or you have lost your senses. 
Which is it?” 

“Heither, child. I’m all right. Where are we? 
O, at Glendyn, dear old Glendyn.” 

“Tell me about Grand and Belle,” said the girl 
soothingly. “ Where are they ? Why did you come 
away from them on such a night ? ” 

“ Grand ? Grand ? O, he’s a blessed boy, the best 
son a man ever had. But come, Rosalie, why don’t 
you come ? Let us go to Grand.” 


356 


Royalized. 


“ I can’t go,” said Birdie, catching her breath with 
a sob. “ I wish I could ; for you must, and I’m afraid 
you are in no condition to find your way back to the 
station alone.” 

“ O yes, I am. I tell you I was never better in my 
life. I could walk ten miles.” 

“ But you talk and act so strangely ! O, if I could 
only bring you in by the fire ! See here ; wont you go 
to the carriage-house and take ofi these wet things and 
wrap yourself up in the buffalo robes and try and get 
warm? You are shaking from head to foot.” 

His eyes fiashed angrily. He pushed her from 
him, and started away as if she had struck him. 

“ /sleep in the carriage-house at Glendyn ! Ho, Rose 
Le Grand, never; I’m as proud a man as your father, 
every bit. Well, then, since you wont come with me^ 
I can take care of myself. Good-night, la helle Rose.” 

He dashed down the steps impetuously. Birdie 
clasped her hands in despairing helplessness. 

‘‘ What shall I do ! What can I do ! ” she cried ; 
then springing after him she caught his arm eagerly. 

“ Here, take this,” she said, drawing a small pearl 
and gilt porte-monnaie from her pocket, and thrust- 
ing it in his hand. ‘‘ Take this and go to the hotel, 
just below here. Don’t try to get to the station to- 
night. There are ten dollars in the purse. Tell 
them to give you a good fire, and take a glass of hot 
lemonade before going to bed. Try and get out of 
this chill if possible. Will you do this ? ” 

He took the purse with a low laugh, kissing the 
hand that proffered it; then stooped and pressed his 
lips to her forehead. 

“ Any thing to please you, my beauty ; any thing.” 


In the Kain. 


357 


“ Good-niglit, then ; walk as fast as you can, and 
don’t pass the hotel. You will see the lights just 
before the lodge yonder. Good-bye.” 

She waved her hand after him, trying to speak 
cheerily, but failing miserably. She was in an agony 
of fear and terror as she let herself softly in, and ran 
up-stairs to her own little room, to bury her face in 
her pillow, and let the hot tears gush forth. It was 
more than a year since she had seen her father last. 
The sight of his face at the window to-night, though 
it struck terror to her soul, still had in it a certain 
glad welcome. She had heard nothing from Grand 
in so long ! She would wade through seas of danger 
she thought to get a word of him — just a word. But 
this meeting with her father had proved worse than 
fruitless. He had been like a man in a dream. She 
had never seen him look and act like this before. He 
certainly could not have had the smallest idea of what 
he was saying or doing. Could it be that he was ill, 
and wandering through the stbrmy night in delirium ? 
Alas! alas! if it were -indeed so, what was to be- 
come of him? Would he have sufficient control of 
his reason to guide him to the hotel, or would he fall, 
down by the road-side and die alone in the raging 
storm? The thought was terrible. O, if she could 
only go after him ! If she only dared tell some one. 
Alas, how helpless she was ! She wrung her hands 
in a spasm of despairing pain. To let him die alone 
on the cold highway on such a night as this, with the 
pitiless rain pouring over him, and no one to help! 
What would Grand say when he found it out ? What 
would her mother up in heaven think of such inhu- 
manity ? And still there was nothing slie could do. 


358 


Royalized. 


Yes, there was one thing she could do. She was the 
child of a King who held the whole earth in the 
palm of his hand. She could beseech him to watch 
over that wretched man who was stumbling along in 
the darkness somewhere outside the gates of Glendyn. 
True, that man had grossly dishonored the King, but 
his mercy reached to the very clouds. His loving- 
kindness stretched to the heavens. She would cry 
mightily to him and he would hear. It never oc- 
curred to this girl, kneeling there at her little white 
bed, that her father’s death would be the greatest 
possible advantage to all of them. It never occurred 
to her that he was a mill-stone about the necks of his 
children ; that the life for which she was pleading so 
earnestly was worse than useless. Ko, no. Birdie 
ne’^'er thought of this. She only thought that he 
was her father, and that her brave, tender-hearted 
mother had clung to him faithfully, until death swept 
them asunder ; and while she waited upon God her 
soul grew strong within her again, mounting up with 
wdngs like the eagles. 

The group at the fireside, down-stairs, had grown 
strangely silent. That sudden hush had fallen upon 
them which is prone to settle at times over the mer- 
riest party. They were looking into the fiames, each 
with thoughtful eyes. 

wonder what has become of Birdie,” Honor 
remarked at length, glancing at the clock in the cor- 
ner, which was pointing its long black fingers toward 
the hour of ten. 

‘‘ Why, I don’t know. She was not at supper,” 
said Mrs. Leroy, a little uneasily. “ Can it be she is 
not feeling weil ? ” 


In the Rain. 35D 

“ She has gone to bed, no doubt,” observed Maud 
carelessly. 

“ Then she certainly is not well. She is no sleepy- 
head. Perhaps I ought to go up and look after 
her.” 

“Nonsense, mamma! You never treated your 
own children to half the solicitude which you mani- 
fest toward Birdie.” 

“ Birdie is worthy of solicitude,” said Honor grave- 
ly. “ If any evil were to befall her it would be a 
most serious loss. I predict a brilliant future for her 
if she lives. Do you not consider her voice marvelous, 
Mr. Avery?” 

“ It is certainly an unusual one. Did I understand 
you to say she is your granddaughter, sir ? ” turning 
upon Mr. Le Grand a glance of keen inquiry which 
startled him. 

“ Yes; she is very like the family, is she not?” 

“ Very. May I inquire if she has relations in New 
York?” 

“ Yes,” rather crustily. 

“ My reason for asking is that she bears a really 
startling resemblance to a young man whom I have 
in my employ at present, named Gilmore — Grand 
Gilmore. It occurred to me to wonder if they could 
be any thing to each other.” 

He spoke indifferently, but his eyes, seeking Mr. 
Le Grand’s, compelled a responsive glance. 

“He is in your employ, you say. May I ask in 
what capacity ? ” 

“ I employed him as a copyist, but he has displayed 
such rare intellectual gifts that I have induced him 
to enter upon the study of law with my father, which 


360 


Koyalized. 


I believe lie is about to do. Did I understand you 
that lie was a relative of the young lady ? ” 

‘‘He is her brother,” said Mr. Le Grand quietly, 
looking straight at the questioner with eyes that bore 
something of a challenge in their directness. 

“ And your grandson ? ” 

“ And my grandson.” 

There was a proud light flashing all over the fine 
old face which transformed and illuminated it into ab- 
solute splendor. Those who beheld it sat staring at 
him spell-bound and amazed. There was an instant’s 
dead silence, then a sudden blaze of jealous fury swept 
the heart of the young person who had always con- 
sidered himself this man’s only grandson. 

“What do you mean to say, sir?” he cried reck- 
lessly, rising and confronting him with clinched 
hands ; “ that you own and acknowledge this fellow, 
this low, dirty street gamin, this drunkard’s son ? 
You own such a descendant as that?” 

The fine eyes glowed, but not in anger. There 
was more of , pity in their gaze as they rested upon 
the distorted face and clinched hands of Master 
Whitney. Thank God, this was not all he had left 
to base his hopes upon. The exultant light leaped to 
his eyes again at the thought. 

“ I own such a descendant as that Le Grand,” he 
said, his voice ringing strongly through the silent 
room. “I own him as the crown of my years. I 
should be proud to own him before all the world.” 

Mr. Avery’s handsome face glowed at this. 

“ And you might well be proud do it, sir,” he said 
earnestly. “Unless I am greatly mistaken, that 
young man will yet be an honor and a glor^^ to all 


In the Rain. 361 

connected with him — as, indeed, in his own quiet way, 
lie is now.” 

“ It must be in an extremely quiet way,” sneered 
Le Grand. “ What is he now ? Your office-boy, I be- 
lieve you said — sweeps your floor and tends your 
Are, I suppose.” 

“Well, if he did, let me assure you he would do it 
well,” responded Mr. Avery coolly, with a calm 
glance at the young gentleman who leaned idly 
against the mantelpiece, his small Angers toying with 
his watch-chain ; “ and he would also do it without a 
remonstrance if necessity demanded the service of 
him. He is above nothing that is honorable, and yet 
a prouder, I may say, a grander, spirit I never knew. 
If the future does not hold many shining awards for 
him I shall fail of my predictions. He possesses that 
sort of genius that tugs — that begins at the root of 
things ; that is willing to grapple with the minutest 
forms of a difficulty. And that, after all, is the high- 
est type of genius ; is it not, Mr. Le Grand ?” 

“It is indeed. To undertake a great matter re- 
quires no very immense effort — the very appearance 
of the thing affords a stimulus ; but to descend to 
trifles, to throw your whole soul into the mastering 
of insignificant details, is the greatest possible proof 
of that sort of tremendous patience which we call 
genius.” 

“ Then grub- worms are geniuses. Ants and all 
the busy insect tribe are geniuses,” cried Le Grand, 
snapping his Angers disdainfully. “ Alas, what 
mistaken notions we take up ! Now I considered 
genius a noble endowment; something to admire, 
comething to reverence.” 


362 


Koyalized. 


“ Reverence the capacity to labor, then, for that is 
genius in its noblest form. ^Natural endowments are 
good possessions, but they amount to very little un- 
linked with the willingness and ability to do hard 
work, and grubbing is just the process which wins. 
In order to attain great acquirements one must first 
meet and conquer an array of trifles which require 
the very quintessence of perseverance. Some one has 
very truthfully said, ‘ If the power to do hard work 
is not talent, it is the best possible substitute for 
it.’ ” 

“ Grand Gilmore is not without talent,” said Mr. 
Avery. His mental abilities are of no mean order, 
and his self-culture, sir, is something extraordinary 
when you consider the means which he has been 
obliged to employ to the accomplishment of it. You 
are acquainted with his history, of course.” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Father,” exclaimed Mrs. Leroy, leaning forward 
with flushed cheeks, “ do you mean to say you know 
this boy — that you have seen him ? ” 

‘‘ I have seen him. I think I know him.” 

Mrs. Leroy was about to speak again, but her hus- 
band interrupted her with a warning look. She caught 
herself up nervously. How far was it permissible to 
discuss family matters in the presence of a stranger? 
and yet, it was hard to wait for an explanation of 
this. 

But her son had no scruples of this character. It 
was the first intimation which he had ever received 
that there existed for him a rival in his grandfather’s 
affections. The thought was maddening, and Le- 
Grand knew no such thing as curbing his temper. 


In the Kain. 


363 

“Well, all I have to saj,” lie burst out furiousl}', 
“ is that you are in your dotage. Surely, there’s no 
fool on earth like an old fool ! ” and the next instant 
the door had slammed behind him as, coward like, he 
rushed from the presence of the old man whose gray 
hairs he had insulted. Horror-stricken, Mrs. Leroy 
gazed at her father beseechingly, but there was no 
frown, no flashing of the brilliant eyes, only a smile 
of calmest compassion. Mr. Le Grand could aliord to 
smile to-night. 


864 : 


Royalized. 


XXYIIL 

A COMPACT. 

“ Gently to hear, kindly to judge.” 

It was very early the next morning when Honor 
awoke. The sun was a highly privileged guest in 
her little red and green room. He came dancing in 
this morning most unexpectedly, causing Honor to 
open her eyes in glad surprise at the changed face of 
nature. All traces of last night’s storm had vanislied. 
This was as brilliant a day as sun ever shone upon. 
The mountains stood out blue and clear against the 
soft rosy horizon. Xewly swept and garnished skies 
arched the world resplendently. Every thing laughed 
and sparkled for very joy. 

“ O world, thou art fair,” Honor hummed, breaking 
unconsciously into Birdie’s old favorite as she raised 
her head from her pillow for a long look into the 
face of this brilliant October morning, alive with 
light and color and. glory. After that one look, how- 
ever, the serious eyes closed thoughtfully. Honor 
had no time for the contemplation of nature at this 
moment. Her busy brain was all taken up with 
another subject. What had it meant — that strange 
talk around the fire last night ? She had been far too 
bewildered and astonished at the 'time to fully com- 
prehend or take it in. Was it really so, or had she 
dreamed that she heard Senator Le Grand saying that 
he was proud to own Grand Gilmore as his grandson ? 


A Compact. 


365 


Proud to own Grand Gilmore! Slie rubbed her 
eyes to be sure that she was fully awake. Senator 
Le Grand making such a statement as that ! Why, 
no prouder, no more aristocratic man walked the 
earth than he, and yet he esteemed it an honor to own 
Le Grand Gilmore. Was he in his dotage, or had he 
lost his faculties, as Le Grand declared ? Certainly 
this looked ominously like it ; but then, how were 
Mr. Avery’s words to be accounted for ? He had 
spoken in the highest terms of this boy, and no head 
could be clearer than his, no lips more truthful. What 
was it he had said of him ? 01“ Gifted with rare in- 
tellectual abilities.” Possibly there might be some- 
thing in that. He was a bright boy when she had 
known him. There w^as no denying that his enact- 
ment of the part of “Alonzo Fitzsimmons” was 
truly wonderful as she recalled it, but then a talent 
for caricature was no sign of mental ability. The 
most worthless and shallow beings in existence were 
often gifted with striking dramatic powers. But 
then, on the other hand. Grand Gilmore was 
a Le Grand. There was blue blood in his veins. 
What was to hinder his developing into a young man 
of superior intellect? Why, nothing, in fact. Of 
course, he was the son of a common drunkard, one of 
those who daily disgrace our streets and thorougli- 
fares, but what of that? There must have been 
something even in Hugh Gilmore once, or Mr. 
Le Grand’s queenly daughter. Birdie’s sweet mother, 
would never have cast defiance into the faces of all 
her world and counted it well lost for love of him. 
She was deluded, no doubt, woefully mistaken, of 
course, but there must have been a rare attraction 


366 


Eoyalized. 


about the man to call for such devotion as this. No, 
there was nothing so wholly improbable in Mr. 
Avery’s statement, all things considered ; but then. 
Grand Gilmore ! Honor found it quite impossible 
to associate any thing like stability or firmness of 
purpose with the character of the idle, trifling boy 
whom she remembered. It had seemed incredible 
last night in the glow of the firelight ; it was equally 
so this morning with the rare October glory flooding 
every thing. The fact was, though she did not in the 
least realize it. Honor did not want to believe any 
thing good of Grand Gilmore. The silent contempt 
with which he had treated that very eloquent letter 
which she had taken such pains to write him last 
summer had created within her a strong feeling of 
resentment against him. It was not a manly, straight- 
forward way of dealing. He might at least have 
written and expressed his displeasure, if it was so great. 
That dead silence had a smack of sullenness in it 
which was quite inconsistent with the character which 
Mr. Avery had hinted at in speaking of him last night. 

“ One thing is certain,” Honor said aloud, rising 
hastily, and beginning to braid her hair, “ I must 
speak with Mr. Avery about this before he goes.” 

It would not be an easy matter to accomplish, she 
knew. Maud, for some reason, kept an exceedingly 
jealous eye upon Honor when Mr. Avery was present, 
and Honor 'was very certain she would permit no 
private interview between them if it were possible to 
interrupt it. All the same, however, she resolutely 
determined that she would speak with him upon the 
subject before he left the house that day. If no op- 
portunity ofilered, then she would make one, and 


A Compact. 367 

bear the consequences of Maud’s displeasure as best 
she could. 

The opportunity, however, did present itself, and 
at a much earlier period than she had anticipated. 
Opening the library door at exactly seven o’clock she 
sui-prised the young man, standing in one of the low 
-front windows looking out at the magnificent pros- 
pect with eyes full of keenest pleasure. He turned 
upon Honor smilingly. 

“So this superb sunshine aroused some one else 
besides myself. I did not expect to see any of the 
family before eight.” 

“Well, you will not be likely to see another for 
most of us in this house are late risers. You are an 
early riser, Mr. Avery.” 

“Hot always, but such a morning as this is too 
good a thing to miss. See how every thing shines. 
Is it too wet for a walk. Miss Leroy ? ” 

“Ho, I think not. I always take .a run on the 
grounds before breakfast. I will be ready in a mo- 
ment.” 

She hurried eagerly away for her hat. This was 
better than she could have thought or planned. For 
an hour, at least, there was no possible danger of 
interruption, and a great deal could be said in an 
hour. Out there in the fresh morning air, under the 
blue, blue sky, there was every thing to enjoy. 
Honor, with the healthy blood fairly bounding 
through her veins, drank in the glory and the sparlde 
with a thankful heart. She waited until they were 
some distance from the house before she entered 
upon her subject, then she opened it without pre- 
liminary. 


368 


Royalized. 


I was greatly interested in your conversation last 
night, Mr. Avery.” 

He turned questioningly. 

In what part of it, may I ask ? ” 

“ In the part relating to Grand Gilmore.” 

«Ah!” 

“ I must say I was exceedingly surprised.” 

“At what?” 

“Why, at what you said about him. It seems quite 
impossible that you knew what you were talking 
about. By no stretch of my imagination can I make 
Grand Gilmore appear in the light of a hero.” 

“ Then you do not know him, I infer.” 

“Yes — or at least I did at one time in his life. He 
certainly promised very little then. That, though, 
was some years ago. Of course, he has had time to 
develop something good since then, but I cannot im- 
agine it unless, indeed, he w^ere tlie hero of a Sunday- 
school book. Such transfigurations are not usual 
anywhere else.” 

“ He must have been quite a boy when you knew 
him,” remarked Mr. Aver}^ quietly, brushing a cob- 
web from the path with his cane. 

“ He was fourteen — fifteen, perhaps. Old enough 
to know better than he did.” 

“ What did he do ? ” 

There was an odd twinkle in the gentleman’s eyes 
which provoked Honor somewhat. After all, what had 
he done to create this severe prejudice in her mind 
against him? Nothing serious, certainly — nothing 
more than any other thoughtless boy might have been 
guilty of. She herself had laughed inimoderately at 
Mr. Alonzo Fitzsimmons. The relation of that incident 


A Compact. 


369 


would sound a mere trifle to tins gentleman, no doubt 
— something at which to smile and to pass over indul- 
gently as a mere bit of boyish nonsense ; and yet there 
was a serious side to such an act of deception as that. 

When I knew him,” she began meditatively, “he 
was a small boy of the most detestable type. That is, 
he was possessed with the spirit of teasing every body. 
He had a mania for it, I should think. Practical jok- 
ing was the aim and object of his life at that period. 
O, Aunt Poxy could tell you the story.” 

He turned a curious look upon her. 

“ Why, Aunt Poxy did tell me,” he said laughing. 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

“ Exactly what I say. Is she your Aunt Poxy, too, 
this charming old lady ? Is she every body’s Aunt 
Poxy ? ” 

“ I have not the remotest idea of what you are talk- 
ing about, Mr. Avery.” 

“No, of course you haven’t. Listen then. From 
Miss Poxana Hill, of Windham, Massachusetts, I 
heard a sad story of the misdeeds of my protege. It 
had to do witli a certain tramp he led her on a rainy 
November night to minister to 'the wants of a sick 
wife who had no existence.” 

“ Mr. Avery, where can you have met Aunt Poxy ? ” 

He laughed a little at her bewilderment, as he 
launched forth into a detailed account of the little 
street episode and Aunt Poxy’s subsequent visit and 
the conversation in the library. 

“ And I assure you she could not And words sufli- 
cient to set forth her appreciation of the sterling worth 
of her young friend,” he said, in conclusion. “ She 
was positively enthusiastic over him.” 

24 


370 


Royalized. 


“ Well, has the world really turned upside down ? ” 
exclaimed Honor. “ I cannot conceive of Aunt Roxy 
speaking in such terms of Grand Gilmore. His kind- 
ness to her must have overcome her former prej udice, 
for she really used to think him a hopeless case. Mr. 
Avery, has Grand ever spoken to you of Birdie ? ” 

“ He has spoken of his lost sister, but not often. 
He conceals his troubles manfully. He is inclined to 
be quite reticent as to his home life.*” 

“ Does he consider it a trouble, then, that Birdie 
is at Glendyn ? I should think the knowledge that 
she is properly cared for and educated must be the 
happiest thought connected with his domestic life.” 

“ I do not think he knows she is here,” said Mr. 
Avery thoughtfully. 

Where does he think she is ? ” 

“ Why, I really cannot tell ; he speaks of her as 
lost. I judge from his manner of speaking that he 
has no knowledge of her whatever.” 

“You must have been mistaken then in what he 
said. He knows all about her. Her father brought 
her here, at first, it seems, without the knowledge of 
the others ; but Grand has been written to repeatedly 
about it. He cannot help knowing.” 

“I must then have misunderstood him. He has 
only spoken of her once in my hearing, and then 
very sadly, as of a young sister he lost a year 
ago and could not get trace of. I understood it that 
she had wandered from home and been lost, but I 
probably placed too literal an interpretation upon his 
words. He perhaps meant to convey the idea that 
she was lost to him.” 

“ I cannot make out his course concerning Birdie,” 


A Compact. 


371 


pursued Honor thoughtfully. Prejudice toward his 
grandfather might induce a certain degree of reti- 
cence, might even make him feel unpleasantly toward 
Birdie for staying here ; but how he can be so severe 
as to refuse a single word to the little heart that is 
truer than any thing on earth to him I cannot com- 
prehend. He seems to have cast her off utterly, as 
unw^orthy his notice. Does such a course strike you 
as noble, Mr. Avery ? • I must say to me it looks 
small, childish.” 

“ It is singular, certainly. Are you quite sure that 
he has not written ? ” 

“ I am positive of it. Birdie grieved over his si- 
lence in secret for many days, but when she found out 
she must quit hoping she quit grieving as well, like 
the sensible little maiden that she is.” 

‘‘ How long has she been here ? ” 

“ It is more than a year since she came. She spent 
the winter and spring at school in Baltimore. She 
will return in November.” 

“ The Le Grands seem very fond of her.” 

‘‘ They dote on her. She is the apple of her grand- 
father’s eye. Mr. Avery, I cannot account for Mr. 
Le Grand’s singular expressions last night. He spoke 
as if he knew this grandson of his and admired him 
immensely. Why, in the days of my acquaintance 
with that young person he entertained the most bitter 
feelings toward his grandfather, whom he' had never 
seen; and really Mr. Le Grand’s treatment of his 
mother was inexcusable. How, then, came this 
change to pass. It is vastly like a story, I think.” 

“ I can give you very little enlightenment. Through 
your Aunt Boxy I learned that Mr. Le Grand had 


372 


Royalized. 


visited young Gilmore in the city, with a view to tak- 
ing permanent possession of him. That is, he pro- 
posed to settle his fortunes right amply if he would 
sever all connection at once and forever with his 
father. This, it seems. Grand stoutly refused to do, 
and since that, I infer that there has been no further 
communication between them. The young fellow, 
as I said, is very reticent regarding his family matters. 
It is quite possible that, still resenting the wrongs of 
his mother, he does not care to establish friendly rela- 
tions with his grandfather. But about his sister I am 
not quite clear. It is very unlike any thing I have 
known of him to cherish unkindness toward one 
of his own, and for such a cause as this. If he is so 
seriously opposed to her being here I suppose he has 
influence sufiicient to take her away. I must speak 
to him about her some time.’’ 

Honor looked up at him in alarm. 

“ I beg you will do nothing of the kind,” she said 
hastily. “ It was that which I wished to speak to 
you about. Since he has elected to treat Birdie with 
such utter contempt, even to the extent of ignoring 
her very existence, I on no account wish him to re- 
ceive any further word from her. There is no telling 
what notion he might take into his obstinate head, in 
his exceeding bitterness against his grandfather, and 
to have Birdie interfered with just now would be most 
disadvantageous. After her education is 'complete, 
and she has arrived at an age to be capable of judging 
properly, if she then wishes to return to her brother 
she will, no doubt, be at liberty to do so, but at pres- 
ent it is not to be thought of. Promise me, Mr. Avery, 
that you will not mention her to him on any account.” 


A Compact. 


373 


“ Yery well, I give you my. word I will not inter- 
fere. It is a promise easily made and easily kept ; 
still I think you sadly misjudge young Gilmore in 
thinking that he would do aught to impede his sister’s 
progress* or enjoyment. He is decidedly above all 
that sort of thing. You do not know him, Miss 
Honor. If you did I am very sure you would enter- 
tain no such fears of him.” 

Honor shook her head with a doubtful smile. 

“ I confess I cannot imagine Grand Gilmore as , 
manly or magnanimous. I am open to conviction, 
however, and perhaps in time I shall be brought to 
esteem him as highly as he appears to merit. For 
the present, however, I must be permitted to continue 
in my disbelief.” 

‘‘ W ell, then, for the present you may,” said Mr. 
Avery, with peculiar emphasis in his tones, “ but I 
think the time is not far distant when you will be 
compelled to acknowledge Grand Gilmore both a man 
and a gentleman.” 

“ And when that time comes you may be sure I 
will do so without reserve,” said Honor frankly ; 

prejudice never blinds my eyes to facts.” 

‘‘ Let it be an agreement then. I have promised 
not to interfere with your prejudices in the matter of 
trusting the young man with his sister’s fate. You 
have promised to yield him your respect and admira- 
tion when it is plainly due.” 

“ Yery well. Do you see Maud on the piazza yon- 
der ? I think she has caught a glimpse of us. Shall 
we go in ? ” 

There was just the shadow of a smile about the 
corners of Mr. Avery’s mustache as he bowed acqui- 


374 


Eoyalized. 


escence, His eyes, searching his companion’s face, 
read there nothing but the utmost complaisance. 
Evidently she had accomplished all her will with 
him. 

“ Where have you been, you two, at this unearthly 
hour ? ” asked Maud, strolling down the path to meet 
them, with suspicion in her eyes. “ What took you 
out in this damp, chilly air ? It must have been 
something of importance.” 

“ It was. We have been making a compact,” said 
the gentleman gravely. 

‘‘A compact! Well, this is interesting. What 
sort of a compact could it possibly have been ? ” 

‘‘ To render unto Csesar the things that are 
Csesar’s,” interposed Honor hastily, with a little awk- 
ward laugh as they went in. 


Forecastings. 


375 


XXIX. 

FORECASTINGS.. 

“ Nothing is late in the light that shines forever.” 

Did yon hear father come in last night, Belle ? ” 
asked Grand Gilmore very early on that same morn- 
ing, entering tlie sunny kitchen, from whence various 
sounds had been issuing for some moments, apprising 
him of the astonishing fact that his sister’s beauty 
sleep had for once been dispensed with. 

Belle looked up with a scowl from the kindling- 
wood which she w^as vainly trying to light. It was 
very disagreeable to have that question thrust upon 
her at this cross, unhappy moment. 

“ Xo, I didn’t,” she snapped shortly. “ I never 
trouble myself to listen for him. I leave that to 
yon.” 

But you know I’m such a sound sleeper,” said 
Grand, proceeding at once to remove Belle’s wet 
kindlings and substitute a few light dry sticks in their 
place. “ I never can keep awake after midnight.” 

“ Well, I can. I could keep awake all night, I 
think, if there was any body to talk to. I don’t be- 
lieve I slept a wink all last night. I kept imagining 
all sorts of things. I get fairly wild when I lie awake 
that way.” 

“ And you are quite sure he didn’t come in at 
all ? ” 


376 


Koyalized. 


“Yes; I’m quite sure I should have heard him. 
You know what a racket he always makes, stum- 
bling and blundering about. I’m really thankful 
nights when he doesn’t come.” 

“ O, Belle, you don’t mean that, surely ! Think 
a moment where he is when he fails to come home. 
AYhere does he spend the nights that he doesn’t spend 
here ? ” 

“ In somebody’s ash-barrel or coal-bin, I suppose. 
What of it ? He’s just as well there as anywhere. 
It’s little enough he knows wdiere he is, mostly, or 
cares either.” 

“But we know,” said Grand sternly. “ Have you 
no pride ? Is it nothing to you that your own father 
is lying about the streets like that ? ” 

“ No, nothing at all. I don’t care a copper where 
he is, so long as he’s out of my sight.” 

Grand looked down at the weak, pretty face with 
a glance of contemptuous pity. 

“ I am exceedingly sorry for you. Belle, if this is 
true,” lie said rather sadly, as he turned away. 

“ Well, you are perfectly welcome to be sorry,” re- 
torted Belle, hurrying to the door after him. “ What 
a lovely morning ! ” looking up into the blue beauty 
that smiled down between brick walls. “ It’s really 
pleasant here. How Birdie would have doted on that 
big square of sky ! I wonder where she is this morn- 
ing. Where are you going. Grand ? ” 

“ To look after my father. Do you realize. Belle, 
that he has not been in for two nights ? This is very 
unusual. I can’t feel easy sitting and vraiting any 
longer.” 

“ Nonsense ! He’ll turn up soon enough ; no 


Forecastings. 377 

danger. You’re not going without your breakfast, I 
hope ? ” ' 

“ I’ll be back in an hour — sooner if I find him. I 
have a pile of work on hand to-day. I can’t afford 
to waste a minute.” 

Belle closed the door and went back to her work 
with a sigh. Why would Grand be so foolish ? Alas, 
the old question! Fie always would be just so. 
There was no hope of any thing else so long as his 
father lived. 

‘‘ And he will continue to live,” muttered Belle 
wrathfully ; he’ll keep living right on to the end 
of time, 1 believe.” 

She arranged the table carefully. Belle was begin- 
ning to take genuine pride in her housekeeping, since 
there was nothing else to take pride in, and her home 
was something to be happy over — this pleasant little 
new home to which Grand had brought her. The 
street upon which the windows looked out was clean 
and quiet, the rooms were wide and airy, the sun 
shone in all day at some spot. Really, but for one 
or two things. Belle thought she could have been 
content and happy. One of these things was the 
ever-present recollection of her grandfather’s elegant 
home, in which she might have reigned if only Grand 
had been less rigid in his notions of duty. The other 
thing was her father. Alas ! the trail of that serpent 
was over all. There could be nothing fair, nothing 
pure or sweet, in her world with the coils of this mon- 
ster evil encircling the whole. 

She arranged her breakfast-table, however, with 
great care and precision this morning, placing a clean 
napkin at Grand’s plate, and covering a soiled spot 


378 


Koyalized. 


in the cloth with a little straw mat. Grand was scru- 
pulously particular about his table appointments. It 
was singular that he should have been, very sin- 
gular, considering that half his life he had eaten his 
meals from broken dishes, or oftener from no dishes 
at all. He had never seemed to care in those days ; 
but, then, he had been so jolly and rollicking noth- 
ing ever troubled or annoyed him at that time. Did 
all boys grow into such prigs as this ? If so, what a 
pity that they must grow at all ! Better to stay al- 
ways children, and be happy and agreeable. But, 
then, if Grand had never matured from that idle, 
good-natured, boyish condition, where would have 
been this neat, pretty home, and these substantial 
comforts ? There was something in him, certainly. 
Not every boy would have struggled through such 
difficulties as his into a position of usefulness and 
trust. Most boys, over-weighted as he had been, 
would have gone down in the muddy current and 
become hopelessly engulfed. There was something 
truly manful in the way he had fought the battle of 
life thus far. This much Belle was compelled to ac- 
knowledge as she settled her coffee and dropped her 
eggs into the boiling water. Of course he had been 
favored. Mr. Avery’s offer was most opportune and 
afforded a rare chance, but it was not every young 
man who knew how to appropriate chances. Grand 
was one of those who did. He was one of those who 
“ besieged the chance, conquered the chance, and made 
chance the servitor.” How far he would continue in 
this persistent overcoming of things Belle could not 
make up her mind. He might grow weary of the 
struggle erelong, but even if he never rose any 


^ FoRECASTIxXGS. 


379 


higher than his present position he certainly deserved 
very great credit. He had shown himself a man in 
every emergency — even, alas ! Belle was forced to ac- 
knowledge secretly, in his dealings with his grand- 
father. 

Precisely upon the time appointed he came in, 
looking somewhat troubled — and alone. 

“Well, you didn’t get on track of him?” Belle 
observed indifferently as she poured out his coffee. 

“ No. I’m quite uneasy, but perhaps it’s useless 
to worry — useless to spend any more time in search- 
ing, certainly. He will be in, doubtless, by to-night. 
Keep a little watch out ; perhaps you may hear some- 
thing from him during the day ; and. Belle, I don’t 
think I shall be back at noon. It’s a good ways to 
come on a busy day. If father should come in at 
any time during the day, do try and receive him 
kindly. You think he’s too obdurate to notice 
your intolerance, but you have no idea how it hurts 
him.” 

“ Let it hurt him, then. He deserves to be hurt. 
A man who will make a beast of himself must ex- 
pect to be treated like one. There is no necessity for 
his doing as he does.” 

“ There was no necessity when he began the habit, 
but now there is the direst necessity. As long as he 
lives in a country where the vile poison is to be had 
for so much a glass he will continue the use of it. 
Bemember he has no will-power left ; not a particle. 
Every vestige of that dominant quality has been 
paid over to the devil.” 

“ But if liquor was not to be bought in the whole 
country wdiat would he do ? Die ? ” 


380 


lioYALIZED. 


“No, I tliink* not. He would liave a very hard 
struggle and then come back to his former self, I 
imagine.” 

“ Then you admit that he has power enough over 
himself yet to overcome this beastly habit ?” 

“ No, I do not admit any such thing. It is only 
under compulsory circumstances that he could ever 
reform. When a man has gone to the length he has 
there rpust be the exercise of some power out 
of himself. We can do impossible things under 
force of necessity. As long as there are rumsellers 
there will be drunkards. When their reign is over 
we shall behold our streets tilled with respectable 
citizens. But I am staying too long ; I must be at 
the office by half-past seven. Remember what I have 
asked of you. Do let us make tlie best of this, not 
the worst. The best is terrible enough as it exists 
for us.” 

Belle watched him from the window as he hurried 
away. It was beginning to strike her perceptions 
quite forcibly that there was something unusually fine 
about this young brother whose growing up she had 
watched with such faithless eyes. It was not every 
gentleman’s son who carried so erect a head and 
walked with such a manly step. 

“ He is certainly growing handsome,” Belle ob- 
served mentally, as she returned to her sunny kitchen. 
“ Why, I really believe he’s growing to look like 
Grandfather Le Grand ! ” she said aloud, as the idea 
struck her for the first time. “ He has just such 
splendid eyes and such a broad white forehead, and 
he walks, now that I think of it, exactly like him. I 
declare there’s something really funny about this. 


Fokecastings. 


381 


'Well, there’s no telling what Grand will amount to in 
time. He has just as good a right to become a United 
States senator as grandfather had. Why not ? He’s 
young enough yet — and he’s studying law, too. The 
idea of Grand Gilmore studying law ! Who would 
have thought it five years ago? Well, strange 
things happen. I shall ride in my carriage yet, no 
doubt.” 

The bracing air of that rare October morning had 
certainly infused itself into Belle, for she went about 
her work with steps that fairly danced. There was, 
perhaps, a rosy future awaiting her, after all. Who 
could tell ? It was delightful to dream of it, at least ; 
delightful to think and to plan; and before Belle 
had swept her floor and hung up her broom she had 
built herself an elegant house on Fifth Avenue, and 
furnished it from end to end ; had hung its walls 
wdth tapestry and its curtains with gold, had painted 
its pictures and carved its statuary and made every 
thing very fair. Alas for “ the beautiful falseness 
of dreams!” And yet Belle’s plans were not so 
wdiolly vague and visionary and without foundation 
as they might have been. She built her castles 
that morning on a surer foundation than even she 
apprehended. 

To Grand, however, the strong, bracing air of that 
brilliant day did not impart its usual degree of buoy- 
ancy. Grand, somehow, was vaguely oppressed. 
Some faint, perplexing dread, it seemed, overhung 
his spirit. It was all nonsense, he assured himself, 
as he set vigorously about his work. It was pure 
childishness to worry and fret in this way about a 
great, strong man who was capable of taking care of 


382 


Royalized. 


himself. But then — was he capable of taking care of 
himself ? Surely, there were many times when he 
was not — more times, by far, when he was not tlian 
when he was. And then he very seldom absented 
himself from home more than twenty-four hours at a 
time. Perhaps it was only a fancy, but he had not 
seemed quite himself on Tuesday morning when he 
left the house. There had been a singular glitter in 
his eyes, and he had laughed more than was his wont. 
True, that might have been the result of drink ; but 
the maddening glass did not usually have that effect 
upon him. In vain Grand strove, with all his might, 
to rid his mind, for that morning at least, of his fa- 
ther’s face as he had seen it last — haggard and worn, 
yet strangely eager and excited; feverish possibly. 
He could not put the memory of it away. It would 
obtrude itself between his eyes and the page over 
which he bent so diligently. What could be keeping 
him away so long as this ? What if any evil had be- 
fallen him ? ' Unable at length to endure the strain 
of endeavoring to fix his thoughts upon his w^ork, he 
sprang up, dashed down his pen, and walked twice 
across the floor in a nervous, pre-occupied manner. 
Mr. Avery, Senior, sitting quietly in his office chair, 
looked up from his morning paper in some astonish- 
ment at this very unusual behavior in his most assid- 
uous of assistants. He thought he detected a dis- 
turbed look about the young face which was not often 
seen there. 

“ You attend too closely to your duties, I fear, 
Gilmore,” he remarked with studied indifference, his 
eyes returning to his paper. Suppose you were to 
allow yourself a flfteen minutes’ run about the square 


Forecastings. 


383 


this fine morning, against what law would you con- 
sider yourself an offender ? ” 

Grand shook his head with a doubtful smile. 

“ I haven’t time for even the thought of such a 
thing to-day,” he said, the anxious look returning as 
he took his seat again. 

The old gentleman made an impatient gesture. 

‘‘ But you may be obliged to take time for the 
thought of something more serious. If any thing ir- 
ritates me it is the sight of people’s trampling on the 
laws of health for the want of time to treat them 
with proper respect. It is a sort of idiocy for wliicli 
I have no toleration. Get your hat, young man, and 
walk at least twice around the square, and then come 
back and go to work. Wait a moment. I’ll go too. 
It’s really a sin for any one to sit moping in a dark 
place on such a day as this.” 

They went out together, the old man and the young 
one, making a fine-looking pair as they walked each 
with brisk, rapid strides, as those are prone to walk 
who have an object in life. Grand- smiled quietly to 
himself at the singularity of the thing ; and then, 
too, he was proud of his company, as he had a right 
to be. It was not every gentleman in Mr. Irenaeus 
Avery’s position who would be willing to be seen 
walking in the street with one of his employees. It 
was not every gentleman who could afford to do such 
a thing. But Mr. Avery had a way of his own 
which was not exactly that of his neighbors. He did 
not consider it necessary to shape his actions with ref- 
erence to any pattern save the one that has shone 
down upon all ages with its light divine. ' 

But Grand was certainly proud of his company. 


384 


Royalized. 


Not, indeed, tliat lie felt in the least unworthy of such 
society. Grand Gilmore was blest with the moral 
consciousness that he had earned the right to hold up 
his head among men anywhere. 

Once, just once during that walk, the question did 
cross his mind if he were to meet his father at this 
moment, rolling from one side of the pavement to 
the other, whether he should have grace or boldness 
sufficient to take him by the arm and conduct him 
home before the eyes of this refined and cultured 
gentleman, or whether he would be constrained to 
pass him by with averted gaze and leave him to the 
tender mercies of the policeman or the gutter. Just 
once this question flashed across his brain, and then, 
at that very instant, he turned his eyes to the street 
and beheld with horror that very form exactly as he 
had pictured it, threading its ^vay uncertainly between 
a perfect net-work of vehicles ; his father, alas ! 
stumbling heavily through the labyrinth, without, ap- 
parently, the slightest idea of wdiere he was or what 
he was trying to do. 

Grand knew at that instant what he should do. 
No question presented itself. With one springing 
bound he cleared the distance between them, passing, 
it seemed to Mr. Avery’s fascinated gaze, beneath the 
feet of a score of horses, until he reached the wmetched 
object whom the wheels of an omnibus, striking 
heavily, had just thrown from his feet. Grand 
grasped him strongly, and succeeded in staying the 
rushing tide until he could drag the powerful form to 
the sidewalk. 

Mr. Avery gave one glance into the miserable 
face of the prostrate man, then turned somewhat 


Forecastings. 385 

severely upon tlie young fellow who had rescued 
him. 

“ Do you consider such a life as that worth the sac- 
rifice of yours ? ’’ he asked sharply. 

Grand remembered him then, for the first. 

‘‘It is my father, sir,” he said quietly, looking him 
squarely in the eyes. “ He is hurt, I think. I must 
get a carriage to take him home.” 

25 


386 


Royalized. 


XXX. 

THE BITTER END. 

“ Be the day weary or never so long, 

At length it ringeth to even song.” 

And in the evening of that October day Grand 
watched his father’s life ebb out, with great throbs of 
pain such as he had never before imagined himself 
capable of suffering. It was not sorrow for the going 
out of these wasted life forces ; that was not a thing 
over which to mourn and lament. That, indeed, was 
well-nigh a matter for rejoicing. Yiewed in the 
light of cool reason, Grand knew that this sudden 
illness, or accident, whichever it was, that hurried him 
away so swiftly was a blessed thing. For there was 
really no hope, no possibility of an arrest for this poor 
soul in its downward course. It was sure to rush 
ahead to a certain destruction ; therefore, why grieve 
that the end was reached thus early? What good 
could there possibly be in the prolonged agony of 
watching the career of one whose feet had taken hold 
on death ? Since it must come sooner or later, this 
dreary finale., why not now ? 

Alas ! Grand’s strong, practical common sense un- 
folded all this td him in its truthfulness, and yet, 
standing face to face with the sure knowledge that the 
bound was reached, the faithful heart of this manly 
son ached and ached relentlessly. 


The Bitter End. 


387 


It was not until the falling of this wearisome night 
that he fullj comprehended how strong, through all 
these stormy days, had burned the brave light of hope 
and trust “ Hope with her blue eyes dim with look- 
ing long,” still hope, living, breathing, ready at the 
faintest touch of the hand of encouragement to leap 
into brave life and energy. There were such things 
as reformed drunkards. Men lived who had over- 
come, by God’s grace. Ah, yes. So long as there 
was life, so long would Hope’s brave heart continue 
its beatings. Now, alas! under the brooding shadow 
of death her dim blue eyes had closed forever. For 
there was nothing beyond upon which Grand could 
lay hold in this hour to comfort him. No drunkard 
sliould inherit the kingdom of heaven. 

The young minister, who, at Belle’s request, had 
stepped in at twilight and offered a fitting and beau- 
tifully worded prayer at the bedside, wondered greatly 
at the stern set of the young man’s lips. Grand Gil- 
more was a Christian. He had publicly professed his 
faith in Christ more than a year ago. What right had 
he to look like that ? 

‘‘ God is merciful. He can save at the eleventh 
hour,” he said, with an attempt at consolation, grasp- 
ing the cold hand which lay listlessly upon the table. 

Grand bowed stiffly, glancing at the senseless face 
upon the pillow, and turned away with an involun- 
tary gesture of impatience. Such words were so hol- 
low, so comfortless, at a time like this. 

The young minister w^ent out from the darkened 
room, sorely perplexed. He had accomplished so 
little. Would it be well to go back, and wait quietly 
for the possible return of reason to that clouded 


388 


Royalized. 


brain ? Acting upon the impulse he stepped softly in 
the room again, and proposed to do so, but Grand, 
thanking him, declined the proposition very decidedly. 

“ There is but little chance that his intellect will be 
restored, and, if it is, I can do all that is necessary,” he 
said bitterly. 

Human nature is very unreliable,” observed the 
minister to his wife an hour later. “ How, that young 
Gilmore struck me as a strong character, but under tlie 
suddenness of this calamity, if indeed it may be called 
such, his faith seems utterly to have failed him.” 

But Grand’s faith had not failed him. There 
was simply no promise upon which he could lay 
hold. This was death in its most terrible form. It 
was deatli eternal. Ho rainbow spanned the dark- 
ness of the valley through which this soul must go 
alone. There was nothing but the blackness impene- 
trable. 

But O, if the light of reason would only return 
once more ! Hot, indeed, that he might urge God 
upon the poor, sinking soul. Grand did not believe 
in death-bed repentance. There might be time for 
saving grace in the fall from masthead to deck, but it 
was a very weak, unsubstantial hope. It seemed like 
insulting divine justice to suppose such a thing. 
Ho ; Grand thought he could only whisper a prayer 
for mercy in his father’s dying ear. Tliat was the 
most he could expect in the way of preparing him 
for the final plunge. But there was one matter of 
most vital importance to him of wdiich only those 
still lips could speak. He had always suspected his 
father of being possessed of full knowledge concern- 
ing Birdie’s whereabouts, though all his efforts to ex- 


The Bitter End. 


389 


tort the smallest degree of information from him had 
proved fruitless. He had trusted to time and a better 
state of things to induce the revelation after which he 
so vainly sought. The dark suggestions which his 
imagination conjured up to-night were driving liim 
well-nigh distracted. O that it were possible to obtain 
the ear of the dying man for an instant of time. If 
he passed away like this, then all hope of finding 
Birdie must perish with that other hope. 

The hours wore away heavily. Belle came in now 
and then, stopped a moment at the bedside, and 
looked shudderingly down upon the still, pallid feat- 
ures. It was so dreadful to die — so dreadful to go 
out of this bright, beautiful world into blackness of 
darkness. 

I cannot stay. Grand,” she said fearfully, at nine 
o’clock, rising from her chair with nervous haste. 
The solemn silence was becoming intolerable. If he 
should die it would frighten her so. 

“ You don’t mind staying alone with him, do you ? ” 
she asked anxiously, leaning over her brother’s shoul- 
der to look into his stern, white face. “You are not 
afraid?” Grand shook his head mechanically. He 
felt as if he had passed beyond all power to think or 
feel. 

“ I can do no good,” said Belle, pausing with her 
hand upon the door-knob. “If you need me you 
will call me, wont you. Grand?” 

He nodded in the same lifeless way. 

“ But don’t call me to see him die,” she said, shiv- 
ering. “I never could bear such sights. You wont, 
will you, Grand ? ” 

“Ho.” 


390 


Koyalized. 


Slie went then. He listened to the sound of her 
footsteps as they died away, and took up the burden 
of his thought again. He was all alone now. He 
would be alone to the end. Well, it was better so. 
The strong heart felt that it could best bear its burden 
of anxious pain away from human sight or sympathy. 
The physician had been in half an hour ago, and left 
minute directions. He had not considered it neces- 
sary to call again during the night. He knew there 
would be no further need of his services. He had 
done all he could. There was nothing more for any 
one to do now ; nothing but sit with folded hand 
and wait for the sounding oars of that mysterious 
boatman which was soon to bear this poor soul across 
the dark waters. 

Thus the long hours dragged away. Once, during 
the night, Grand thought he perceived a lightening 
up of the dull eyes, as if the passing spirit was about 
to return for one more look from the windows of life, 
but it was gone in an instant. Grand fell on his 
knees'theii, beseeching God fervently that he would 
not suffer this faint soul to pass through the gates of 
death until he had gained from it the one word he so 
eagerly desired. But the night crept on, and there 
was no more any sign. 

In the first faint tint of . dawn Belle awoke and- 
came stealing softly, cautiously into the room. The 
windows were wide open now, and the chill struck lier 
with a sense of awe. One glance toward the bed, 
upon which something lay covered reverently from 
head to foot, and poor Belle fied from the spot, shiver- 
ing and trembling as with an ague fit. 

The shadow had lifted from her life, then ; the great 


The Bitter End. 


391 


cloud wliicli had overspread all the heaven of her 
childhood and youth, blotting out every thing songful 
and radiant from her existence; the great cloud of 
shame and disgrace was dispelled forever. She was 
no more a drunkard’s daughter ; never again could 
taunting lip cast in her teeth this galling fact’. She 
was nobody’s daughter any more. 

Standing white and terrified upon the door-step, 
where the morning air could lift the blonde rings 
from her forehead, poor Belle looked up into the 
deep blue and wondered if God could have heard the 
prayer of the minister last night, and had mercy on 
her father’s soul. She hoped so. O, she hoped so 
with all the fervency of her shallow little heart ; and 
if it were so, then why should she mourn for her 
father ? 

‘‘ Did he say any thing before he died. Grand ? ” she 
asked, meeting her brother in the hall as she went in. 

“Nothing; he died at half-past three, unconscious 
to the end — the hitter end.” 


r 


392 


Koyalized. 


XXXI. 

STRANGER THAN FICTION. 

“ We live in deeds, not years ; in thoughts, not breaths.” 

“ Honor Leroy, it ’pears to me you’re leadin’ an 
aimless life.” 

Aunt Roxy drops her knitting work as she speaks, 
and looks over her spectacles with that half-severe, 
half-deprecating expression which people assume un- 
consciously when they feel that they are dispensing 
substantial truths which, though wholesome, are de- 
cidedly unpalatable. 

Honor glances up from her lapful of daisies with 
an abstracted smile. Aimless? Xo. The brown 
head shakes an emphatic denial to this charge. In- 
active, unsatisfactory, no doubt, but not aimless. 

“ Do give me a towel to hem or a shirt sleeve to 
make, Aunt Roxy,” she says, with a laugh, rising so 
hastily that the daisies fall like a shower of golden- 
hearted snow flakes upon the neatly swept door-step. 
“ Give me any thing to do which will save my repu- 
tation in your eyes. The trivial round, the common 
task, has its own dignity which refutes disadvanta- 
geous charges. Get something for me to do at once, 
if you please. I could even undertake darning stock- 
ings, or mending John’s old coat, in view of clearing 
myself from so grave a suspicion -as tin’s.” 

“Well, first, then, I would advise you to pick up 


Stranger than Fiction. 393 

them weeds. I don’t want no such trash litterin’ 
my clean steps. I don’t see what makes you so j)os- 
sessed after daisies, Honor. You always was, I re- 
member, when you was a little thing. What there 
is about ’em I never could contrive.” 

“ What there is about them ? Why, they’re the 
prettiest things God ever made without a soul. I 
wonder at any one who ' does not appreciate such 
simple, exquisite beauty.” 

“ Simple, exquisite fiddlesticks,” quoth Aunt Roxy, 
smiling grimly. “ Pick ’em up, Honor ; I don’t want 
’em mussing around my premises. They belong to 
that class of beauty that chokes the substantial 
growths. I want none of it. But if you’re in ear- 
nest about something to do, go in and get the old 
work-basket out of the corner cupboard. You’ll find 
enough there to keep you occupied for one afternoon, 
I guess.” 

Honor picked up the daisies and pinned them in 
the bosom of her dress, thoughtfully, as she went for 
the work-basket. What Was an aimless life ? A life 
without object or end; a drifting life. Well, how 
was any one to know ? 

“ Aunt Roxy,” she began, resuming her seat upon 
the door-step, ‘‘what do you consider the proper 
aim of life ? ” 

“ Man’s chief end is to glorify God and enjoy him 
forever ! ” repeated Aunt Roxy, with religious 
promptness and fervor. 

“O, I know, but how is it to be done? People 
think they are glorifying God when they have not 
taken the first step toward it. Aunt Roxy, I believe 
Pll write a novel.” 


394 


Eoyalized. 


‘‘ Well, for the land’s sake ! I thought before your 
head was turned; now I’m sure of it. What on 
earth would you do such a thing as that for ? Aint 
the world full enough of such trash a’ready 

“ Full enough of trash, yes ; but 1 shall not write 
trash.” 

Was a novel ever any thing else ? 

“Certainly. That question shows your inexperi- 
ence. Suppose, now, you should take up a course of 
novel-reading — works of standard authors, I mean? 
You would be benefited by it, I think.” 

“ Well, when I do it I will be benefited by it,” 
said Aunt Eoxy grimly ; “ but what sent you off 
your subject like this? You can’t glorify God by 
writin’ novels, or readin’ ’em, either.” 

“Well, I believe it’s possible. Half the good, 
stanch people in the world, like yourself, have very 
cramped ideas of truth. God keeps these things from 
the wise and prudent and reveals them unto babes. 
Now, my novel would be a life-picture. It would set 
forth my ideas of duty, and I think it would be rather 
original.” 

“ I dare say it would,” remarked the old lady dryly ; 
“but why make it a novel? Why not call it a ser- 
mon, if you mean it for such? I believe in callin’ 
things by their proper names.” 

“ O, a sermon by Honor Leroy would meet but a 
sad reception in the literary world. Even you would 
scarcely take the trouble to read it.” 

“Would I be any more likely to take the trouble 
to read a novel by Honor Leroy? Child, do you 
think you can instruct me f ” 

“ Not instruct ; O no. I beg your pardon if I 


Stranger than Fiction. 


395 


have even unconsciously hinted at such a thing ; but 
I might set you to thinking in a different cliannel 
from that to which you have been accustomed.” 

“No doubt of that ; that is, if you set me to think- 
ing at all.” 

Honor bent her head over her seam to conceal the 
little vexed expression which struggled with the 
smile upon her face. 

“ Honor, child,” said Aunt Roxy earnestly, “ I hope 
if you’re in earnest about this, if you really have got 
any such possible notion in your head, you’ll get rid 
of it as quick as you possibly can. Writin’ books is 
not your forte.” 

“ Granted. Would you please to state what is my 
forte — if 1 am so fortunate as to have one ; or do you 
regard me as one of that giddy multitude who were 
born to cumber the earth ? ” 

Aunt Roxy caught the accent of bitterness in the 
clear tones, and frowned. 

“ Nobody was born to cumber the earth, child,” 
she said sharply; “them who are doin’ it are doin’ 
it on their own account. Your forte, Honor Leroy, is 
to live a quiet, contented, busy, useful life. That’s 
all. And that’s enough, in my opinion. Women are 
not called upon to do great things in this world, but 
they are called upon to carry themselves blamelessly 
and do all the good they can. Honor, there’s some- 
body down there by the front gate that looks as if 
she needed a little help. Suppose you run and ask 
her. May be she’s lost her way, or something of that 
sort. She leans against the gate as if she was tired 
like. She’s been there for five minutes or more.” 

Honor got up nimbly. She was glad of an excuse 


396 


Eoyalized. 


from that coarse, cotton seam. She was pricking her 
fingers unmercifully over it. 

“ Can 1 do any thing for you, madam ? ” 

The woman leaning against the gate turned her 
head abruptly at the sound of the clear, soft voice ; 
turned to behold a most charming young lady in a 
white dress with daisies in her bosom. She was not 
prepared for this vision. She had been staidng with 
half-shut eyes at the deep green stretch of woods op- 
posite the house. She had forgotten where she was. 

‘‘Excuse me, miss,” she said, looking Honor over 
with approving eyes ; “ ’pears like I forgot I’d 
stopped. I was born over there, just beyond that 
clump o’ trees. The old house is gone, but the grass 
and the woodbine and the old oaks is here yet. 
Laws, how it carries a body back ! It’s a good thirty- 
five years or more since I left. Good land, how 
time flies ! ” 

“Wont 3 mu come in and rest awhile?” Honor 
asked politely. 

“ Laws ! This is the old Hill place, haint it ? Does 
Miss Koxana live here yet ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“She does? Well, then, I’ll go in sure, for Belle 
told me, as soon as she heard of my cornin’, to be sure 
an’ stop to see her. I wasn’t sure that she lived on 
the old place yet. Good land, it’s pretty here ! And 
there’s Miss Roxy on the steps yonder, sure’s 
preachin’! I’d ’a’ knowed her anywhere. Wonder 
if she’ll remember me.” 

She passed rapidly up the wide gravel walk to 
where Aunt Roxy sat, and held out an eager hand. 
Aunt Roxy took the hand cordially, but there was no 


Stranger than Fiction. 397 

recognition in her eyes as she looked the little, stout, 
commonplace ligure over. 

You don’t remember me — Sophrony Collins that 
was ? ” 

Aunt Roxy regarded her thoughtfully. 

“What! Not Bijah Collins’s daughter, that used 
to live over by the brook, ’cross the meadows?” 

“ The very same. I was not quite fifteen when we 
went from here. I married John Blake a year or so 
after. He was took with fever ’most before the honey- 
moon was over, and died, leaving me to shift for my- 
self. I’ve been livin’ in the city for more’n fifteen years. 
Laws ! It does seem good to git among the clover blos- 
soms again 1 You haint no idea, you that always live 
among ’em, how sweet sich things air— so restful 
like.” 

“Well, you must take oil your bonnet. Stay and 
have a cup of tea with us. You ain’t in no hurry, are 
you ? ” 

“Well, I must get over to the Corners by night- 
fall. I’ve got a sister-in-law living there. It’s three 
miles and more from here, haint it ? ” 

“ It’s nearer five ; but you stay till after sunset and 
I’ll have John take you over in the buggy.” 

Mrs. Blake accepted the invitation gladly. It was 
a rare delight to sit here in tlie vine-covered porch 
and look over to where, her childhood’s home had 
been. 

“ It’s many a long year since your father broke up 
over there,” said Aunt Roxy, pleased at the keen en- 
joyment which was visible upon every line of the 
round, rosy countenance. 

“ Yes, yes ; ’pears like it’s ages. I never ’lotted to 


398 


Royalized. 


set eyes on the dear old spot again, but this spring I 
took a sort of hankerin’ after the sight of it — hank- 
erin’ night and day for the smell of the clover and 
the sound of the wind in the trees. May be you 
don’t know what it is to get such feelin’s hold of you. 
I s’pose it’s cause John’s sister moved in the neigh- 
borhood made me more anxious like. I knowed that 
if I came I wouldn’t be coinin’ among strangers. 
Well, I’d laid up a nice little sum this year, and so I 
just made up my mind I’d give myself one pleasure 
trip before I died. It’s precious few I’ve ever had. 
My ! it’s sad enough to see the changes too ; but you 
look natural enough here, just as Belle said.” 

“Belle?” 

“Yes, Belle Gilmore. You haint forgot them 
young folks, have you ? Used to live over to Slippery 
Elm Hollow. Knowed you well, and set a big store 
by you. I hope you remember ’em, Miss Roxy.” 

“ Well, that I do,” exclaimed Aunt Roxy heartily. 
“And you know them? Well, now, set right down 
and tell me all about ’em. I’m interested in them 
children more than I can say.” 

“ Children ! They aint much children now, I can 
tell you. Grand is a man, head and shoulders above 
every body else ; and that not only one way, but every 
way. The way that feller’s riz in the world is past 
all calkilation. Why, when I first knowed ’em they 
lived in the attic of one the miserablest tenement 
houses in the city. I was on the first floor and found 
it all I could do to exist there — and them children 
right up agin the roof all summer long ! I wonder 
how tliey lived at all. Well, after they moved away 
I lost track of ’em for more’n two years, and when I 


Stranger than Fiction. 399 

found ^em again I could hardly believe my eyes, they’d 
improved so every way— come right up in the 
world, as you may say. That Grand is grand, and no 
mistake. He’s just riz steadily, step by step, and 
carried the rest along with him. It’s the most mirac- 
ulous thing I ever hearn tell on. How he’s ever 
managed to get such an eddication nobody knows but 
himself ; but he was always diggin’ into books. I 
expect that’s the way he got it — slow and sure. It’s 
likely if it hadn’t been for them Averys takin’ him 
up as they did he’d been longer about it, but he’d 
come out just the same in the end, any way. It was 
in him to be somebody. Laws, Miss Eoxy, can you 
imagine Grand Gilmore a lawyer?” 

Aunt Koxy looked her thoughtfully in the eyes for 
a moment. 

“Yes,” she said slowly, “I can imagine Grand 
Gilmore ’most any thing that’s dignified and respect- 
able. I knew there was the makin’ of a man in him 
that time I met him in the city. I’m surprised at 
nothing fine I hear about him.” 

Honor darted a keen glance at her, but the good 
old face expressed nothing but honest conviction. Ev- 
idently no satire was intended. 

“Well, you just ought to see him now,” went on 
the pleased narrator, “splendid-looking feller that 
he is ! Though, as I said before, looks is the least there 
is to admire about him. He’s got a soul ‘that’s goin’ 
to shine like the stars some day. The way he stuck 
to that poor father of his till he died showed plainer 
than any thing else what there was in him.” 

“ Ah ! he is dead, then, the father ? ” 

“Yes, it’s nigh two years since he died, and a 


400 


Royalized. 


blessed thing it was, too, though Grand never seemed 
to look on it as an j thing but a great grief. I couldn’t 
help rejoicin’ in inj secret soul when I heard he was 
gone, poor feller. But the worst of it was he died 
without ever lettin’ on a word about Birdie. You 
knew the child was lost, I s’pose ? ” 

“Yes; and Hugh Gilmore never told what he’d 
done with her ? ” 

“Never breathed it. He died very sudden, and 
was insensible to the last.” 

“ And Grand don’t know where she is ? ” 

“ Don’t know no rnore’n the dead. It’s not often 
he speaks his mind about any of these things, but he 
said in my hearin’ only last week that if he could be 
sure she was in her grave he’d thank God and take 
courage, for this uncertainty w^as more sometimes 
than he could bear.” 

“ Do you mean to say,” cried Honor excitedly, ris- 
ing and grasping the woman’s arm, “ that Grand Gil- 
more really doesn’t know where Birdie is ? ” 

“ No more’ll the dead. His father took her off one 
day, or he thinks he did. Any way, she disappeared, 
and he’s never seen or heard from her since, no more’n 
if she’d evaporated like a dewdrop. I tell you he 
went nigh distracted over it, and it’s a livin’ grief. 
He’ll carry it to his grave unless he gets track of her, 
which aint likely after all this time. It just shows 
how a body can rise in spite of circumstances. If 
ever any body had weights hung on to ’em Grand Gil- 
more had ; and look how he’s struggled above ’em ! 
You ought to see the pretty home he’s made for Belle^ 
and the fine feathers he gets for the vain creature to 
deck herself out in, for she is vain, Belle is, no 


Steangee than Fiction. 401 

denyin’ that. It was Birdie that was the light of that 
home.” 

Honor turned aside abruptly and walked away. She 
could not listen to any more of this just now. She 
had been guilty of misjudging a fellow-mortal, and 
that, in Honor Leroy’s eyes, was little short of a 
crime. Strictly just, strictly honest in all her deal- 
ings, she had ever considered herself. Therefore her 
heart reproached her with exceeding bitterness as she 
remembered with what measure she had meted out 
judgment upon Grand Gilmore. How she had 
strengthened and confirmed Birdie’s first doubt of him, 
how she had even striven to prejudice Mr. Avery 
against him. While the poor fellow was struggling 
with all his might to overmount the difficulties which 
every-where beset him, she. Honor Leroy, had inten- 
tionally, placed a stumbling-block in his way. 

‘‘ As if it w^as never possible for letters to mis- 
carry ! ” she said aloud, smiting her hands together in 
self-scorn. Ah ! she had never thought of that. Alas 
for the little possibilities we never think of which 
hang like heavy mists over many a truly fine charac- 
ter, so that our eyes fail to behold the beauty which 
would delight us ! 

‘^But I will right the wrong I have done yet,” said 
Honor, looking with eager eyes across the daisied 
meadows to the hills. “ There is always a chance to 
retrace one’s steps when one has blundered.” 

26 


402 


Eoyalized. 


XXXII. 

AFTER LONG GRIEF. 

“ 0 music ! 

Art thou the evening breeze of this life, 

Or the morning air of the future one ? ” 

We, ignorant of ourselves, beg often our own 
harms, which the wise powers deny us for our good ; 
and so tind we profit by losing of our prayers.’’ 

Belle reads the lines over carefully once again, 
then closes the book and clasps her hands upon it 
thoughtfully. Belle has changed some in the years 
since her father’s death. They have been very con- 
tented years, these three, bright, busy years, across 
which the shades have fallen lightly. There have been 
shades, indeed ; there always will be shades until 
Birdie’s wandering wing shall turn for its homeward 
flight. Belle has grown womanly with the years. 
Much of the utter selfishness which so long encased 
her nature is yielding and falling away in these days 
of clear shining. She is beginning to look with 
deep regret and sorrow of heart upon the idle 
thoughts and actions with which all her backward 
track has been strewn. Happiness, like the spring- 
time, has called into bloom some very fragrant flow- 
ers in this thoughtless character. 

“If it was to do over again I am quite sure I 
should act differently,” muses Belle this morning, 


After Long Grief. 


403 


thinking of the countless childish prayers with which 
she had been wont to weary Heaven in the old, 
wretched days when there had been no light in the 
skies. They were answered, these prayers. She has 
been brought out of the gray gloom into a place 
filled with the glow of noon-tide, though she has 
never yet succeeded in moving her grandfather’s 
heart as she had so vainly besought the powder 
to do. 

‘‘It is better this way, no doubt,” thinks Belle 
this morning, with the warm J Line sunlight flooding 
her hair, her face, her hands, flooding all the pretty 
room in which she sits. “ Better so, of course,” with 
a blush and smile ; “ for if I had gone to Glendyn 
when I wanted to I should never have known 
Frank Moore.” And never to have known Frank 
Moore would have been afar more serious matter than 
she could estimate. She has, indeed, found profit in 
losing of her prayers. 

“ Grand,” she says, suddenly turning to her 
brother, do you know it’s just five years ago to-day 
‘since Birdie went away. It was the seventh of June. 
She is almost nineteen. Does it seem possible ? ” 

Grand, pacing the floor with his hands clasped 
behind him and his head bent, pauses at her chair 
and looks down upon the fair round head with very 
sad eyes. She is all he has in the wide world, and 
Grand Gilmore’s heart is large. All he has in the 
world, and she will soon belong to some one else. 

“ Can you realize that she is nineteen ? ” pursues 
Belle, her eyes seeking his questioningly. 

“ She must be. Time does not stand still, and yet 
I would rather think of Birdie as a child.” 


404 : 


Koyalized. 


“ I wonder wliat slie has grown into,” said Belle 
musingly. “ Grand, do you suppose we shall ever 
see her again ? ” 

I expect to. I often have a conviction that she 
is not far away. Yes, Belle, God is good. Birdie 
must come back to us. She is one of those over 
whom good angels watch, I think.” 

He resumed his slow pacing again, while Belle went 
away to make her toilet for church, with very 
thoughtful eyes. 

“ And so find we profit by losing of our prayers,” 
she repeated, as she tied the violet satin bonnet rib- 
bons under her round white chin. After all, he 
could take care of Birdie wherever she wandered 
under his blue sky to-day. 

“ Frank is coming for me at ten,” she said, coloring 
a little, as she slipped into her brother’s presence 
again. “You wont mind’ my going to church with 
him this morning, will you, Grand?” 

Grand shook his head, smiling a litde as he looked 
her over. Belle’s taste in dress would never be of 
that quiet, refined order which he so much admired,* 
and yet there was no denying that she was a very 
attractive object, as she stood in the sunlight with her 
pale pink ruffles, her gay laces and ribbons. Hobody 
could help admiring a pretty humming-bird. Certain- 
ly, even the Le Grands need not have been ashamed 
of Belle this morning. To the modest-faced young 
fellow who was running up the steps at this moment 
the glimpse which he caught of her, through the 
open window, was positively beautiful. He was 
quite sure that never in all his life before had he 
beheld so lovely a girl as this one, who had consented 


After Long Grief. 


405 


only last night to let the light of her smiles fall upon 
him all the rest of her life. 

His countenance actually shone as he followed her 
out, stepping softly, as if haunted by a vague feeling 
that she was a vision liable to dissolve at indication 
of human presence. Grand smiled involuntarily, but 
there was sadness in the smile. This was a good 
fate for giddy Belle ; better, far better, than he had 
dared to hope for her. These were good, strong, 
trustworthy hands into which she had fallen, and yet 
Grand would have preferred to k^ep this one leaf of 
the whole garland to himself. 

Ah, there was another foot-fall on the steps outside. 
He sprang to the door, holding out a cordial hand as 
Richard Avery’s handsome face appeared. 

“ I came to ask you to go to church with me this 
morning, Gilmore. I know you’re the strictest pos- 
sible adherent to your own particular sanctuary, but 
this once I want to tempt you, if possible, to break 
over your rules. The fact is, there’s a new soprano 
at our church ,! want you to hear. The finest one in 
the city, we presume to claim. I want your opinion. 
It is usually correct in musical matters.” 

Grand made a gesture of feigned astonishment. 

‘‘ What, you, of all others, gone wild over a pretty 
voice to the extent of tramping a mile out of your 
way in order to beguile another weak mortal into a 
like enthusiasm ! I certainly did not think it of you, 
Mr. Avery.” 

‘‘ But you’ll come, all the same,” smiled the gen- 
tleman confidently. 

O yes, no doubt of it. You know my weak 
point too well to venture so much of an exertion 


406 


HOYALIZED. 


without surety of success. IS’otliing tempts me like 
a beautiful voice. I fear I should never have been 
able to steer safely past the island of sirens. All the 
same, though, any attempt at display in church music 
is a thing for which I have no relish. For that rea- 
son I eschew quartette choirs. ‘ Let the people praise 
thee, O God, let all the people praise thee.’ That is 
the proper thing in the house of God, I think.” 

“ I agree with you,” said Mr. Avery, as they went 
out into the warm June glow together, “ but you 
will not be struck by any apparent attempt at display 
when you hear our new soprano. It is a voice which 
is cultivated to such an extent tliat it forgets itself. 
There is a sound of heartsomeness in it which is either 
the highest attainment of art or real, pure feeling. 
I am unable yet to determine which. I want your 
opinion.” 

Tlie softest strains of a magnificent organ were 
stealing tenderly through the dim arches of the great 
tabernacle when the two young men entered. Grand 
bowed his liead involuntarily as he took his seat. 
There was something in that music which made liini 
feel as if he had been ushered into the very presence 
of God. There was no suggestion af display in it. 
It was simply the throbbing of some strong human 
heart against the heart of its Maker ; simply the 
voice of an understanding soul speaking through the 
organ pipes. Every cadence and swell bore in it the 
breathing of a supplication. 

Grand, with closed eyes, had been borne on tlie 
wings of that prayer in music far away from eartli 
and its discords, when tlie faint, unexpected murmur- 
ing of a silvery voice smote his ear with a sense of 


After Long Grief. 


407 


something new and startling. He raised his head 
and looked about him with a bewildered air. Some- 
thing in that voice affected him strangely. It was 
unlike that of any soloist to whom he had ever before 
listened. It had none of that strained, artificial 
effort which is so manifest in the performance of 
many public singers. Indeed, there was a purity, a 
freshness, a simplicity about this voice which made it 
seem like that of a child singing in the morning 
sunlight. 

“The Lord is in his holy temple. Let all the 
eai’th keep silence before him.” The words trem- 
bling over the heads of the fashionable audience meant 
just what they said. The voice had a deep under- 
tone of reverence in its richness. It seemed to 
Grand’s absorbed ear to be floating from the very 
clouds. Suddenly it dawned upon him that there 
Avas a familiar ring in this voice, as if somewhere 
he had heard it before. He bent his head upon his 
hand again, and tried to think. Whose voice was it 
like ? A vague dream of his mother floated through 
his brain. She used to sing, but not like this ; her 
singing always had a strain of sadness in it. This 
voice was joyful, exultant, like the brave tones of 
birds on the wing flying toward the sun. And yet 
— where had he heard it before ? 

All through the rest of the services it haunted him. 
He waited for the next solo with an impatience which 
surprised him. 

“ This is being carried away indeed,” he thought, in 
some vexation at his inability to fix his attention upon 
any thing. And yet he was quite sure it was not the 
beauty of the voice which affected him thus. It was 


408 


Eoyalized. 


some strange association that fascinated him ; some 
unexplained charm which made him long to hear it 
again that he might discover, if possible, what it was. 

At the close of the sermon the beautiful voice 
pealed out again in the exquisite strains of Gounod’s 
“Nazareth.” Mr. Avery, watching his companion 
covertly, saw him suddenly start and change color. 
All, yes. Grand knew now wliose voice it was like. 
Swiftly his imagination had winged him back over 
a barricade of heavy years to the days of his boy- 
hood. As in a dream, he was climbing up a weary 
flight of stairs in the twilight, with the sound of a lul- 
laby floating to him through the dimness. Birdie was 
singing her baby brother to sleep in the fading light. 
He would open the door in an -instant and see the 
childish figure in the old rocking-chair, her slight 
arms clasping a dimpled form, her pretty chin dropped 
upon a golden head that lay upon her breast, and her 
long-lashed eyes drooped tenderly to the baby face as 
she sings. Of all the pictures that hung in his mem- 
ory’s hall this was the one most vividly sweet. He 
turned about suddenly and darted a swift glance at 
the singer. He had a brief glimpse, a very brief 
glimpse only, of a pure patrician face with lovely 
di'ooping eyes and waves of light brown hair lying 
loosely upon a brow of snow. One glimpse, and then, 
though the beating of his heart almost stifled him, he 
remembered himself. With his perfect self-control he 
turned his fascinated eyes away and waited in silence 
until the rustle of the crowd and the pealing of the 
organ tones told him that the service was over. Then 
he grasped Mr. Avery’s arm with whitening lips. 

“ Who is she?” he asked, catching his breath with 


After Long Grief. 


409 


an effort that his voice might not seem strained. If 
this were to be a disappointment only God knew how 
bitter a one it would be. 

“ Do you mean the soprano ? ” asked Mr. Avery 
coolly. 

‘‘ Yes. For heaven’s sake tell me quickly who 
she is ! ” 

“ Her name is Rose Le Grand Gilmore.” 

Grand waited for nothing more. How he gained 
the gallery stairs through the crowd, or how he ascend- 
ed them, he never knew, but it seemed scarcely an 
instant after that name smote his consciousness that 
he was standing face to face with the young lady and 
was holding both the little ungloved hands in his 
own. She looked at him an instant doubtfully, then 
smiled the old lovely smile that Grand remembered 
so well. But she did not speak. Those who stood by 
wondered at the strange radiance which overspread 
those two faces, so singularly, alike as they gazed 
silently into each other’s eyes. 

“ Some relation whom she has not seen for years,” 
they whispered, one to another, and then withdrew 
respectfully, leaving the brother and sister alone to 
each other in the faint subdued light of the beautiful 
church. 

‘‘ And this is Birdie,” said Grand, speaking weakly 
at last, like one trying to form a sentence in a new 
tongue. 

“ And this is Grand,” echoed Birdie, laughing a 
little, as she raised her hand to touch his forehead 
wonderingly. 

Then the silence fell between them again, and Bird- 
ie’s eyes were blinded with sudden tears. 


410 


Koyalized. 


“ Father told me, when he left me at Glendvn that 
day,’’ she faltered, “ that the best thing I could do for 
Grand was to make him proud of me. I wonder if 
he ever thought I should live to be so proiid of 
Grand ? ” 

But Grand could not find his voice even after that. 
There were volumes to say, but no words would come. 

“ Come,” he said abruptly, picking up the soft lit- 
tle gloves, which had fallen to the fioor, and handing 
them to her. Come home to Belle, and tell us all 
about it.” 

And so they went out into the sunshine again, this 
brother and sister, to whom the shadowed years had 
still been so wondrously kind — went out into the fair 
sunlight of that blessed Sabbath day walking with 
steps that seemed to tread on air. 

Belle, looking a little anxiously from the window, 
wondering what could be keeping Grand so long that 
day, beheld him appearing at last with a young girl 
upon whom his eyes beamed with an expression of 
unspeakable delight. Wliat ! Could it be that Grand 
had found a sweetheart ? she questioned, startled, and 
not altogether pleased. Y es, Grand had found a sweet- 
heart — the sweetest heart in all the world. What ! 
Belle’s blue e^^es grew suddenly black. The five years 
were at that instant as though they had not been. 

Birdie ! ” she cried, throwing up both hands in a 
tumult of happiness. “ Birdie ! Birdie ! Birdie ! ” 


Grand or Le Grand? 


411 


XXXIII. 

GRAND OR LE GRAND? 

“ We mount to heaven mostly on the ruins of our cherished 
schemes, finding our failures were successes.” 

“And so you were the one to live with grandfather, 
after all, Birdie — or Bose we must learn to call you 
now that you have become such a prima-donna. You 
said you never would, you know.” 

, “ Never would what ? ” asked Birdie demurely. 
“Become a prima-donna or live with grand- 
' father ? ” 

“ Why, live with grandfather, of course. Have 
you forgotten how vehemently you used to scorn the 
very thought of him ? I would scarcely have thought 
you would succumb like this, though I don’t blame 
you for staying after you got here, even if it was 
against your principles. The temptation must have 
been overpowering. It’s the loveliest spot in the 
world, I believe.” 

Belle is at Glendyn at last. There no longer exists 
any barrier between Senator Le Grand and his daugli- 
ter’s children. Birdie’s tiny hand has overthrown tJie 
last lingering one. He is glad now, for the sake ot 
these two. Grand and Birdie, to welcome even Belle 
to his heart and home, and she is not so much of a 
reproach as he had feared. Indeed, there is something 
quite refined and lady-like about her, now that she is 


412 


Eoyalized. 


removed from untoward influences and placed in the 
sphere for which she was designed. 

As for Belle, her wildest dream has been more 
than realized. She has been presented and received 
in cultured circles as the granddaughter of the proud 
master of Glendyn. That is honor enough for even 
her aspiring heart. Aunt Mildred has also deigned 
to smile most graciously upon her, and even Maud 
admits that, for a girl who was grown in an alley, she 
is quite passable ; but then that is the Le Grand 
blood speaking, of course. The Le Grand blood was 
bound to show itself blue in spite of circumstances. 
It was quite astonishing how it had manifested itself 
in these young people, but then it was only natural ; 
pure metal would shine in a rubbish heap. 

And so Belle was wildly, deliriously happy as the 
summer days glided away. There was a light in her 
eye and a bloom on her cheek which made her posi- 
tively beautiful at last ; and yet she knew, what no 
one else suspected, that the spring of this bubbling, 
effervescent happiness lay not simply in the gratiflca- 
tion of her vain desires and ambitious longings. Ah, 
no ; it had quite another source. These fulfilled as- 
pirations would have afforded her untold delight, no 
doubt, but there was a bit of subdued rose-color back 
of it all which cast a sort of glory over what other- 
wise might have been blinding glare. There was 
more character in Belle than most people credited her 
with. There was one in all the happy world who 
had found the key to her deeper nature. That which 
bubbled on the surface had an exceedingly shallow 
look, and thus she was gay, thouglitless, giddy Belle 
to every one with whom she- came in contact save that 


Gkand or Le Grand ? 


413 


one who had been permitted to look beneath the 
froth aud foam. To him she was pure, womanly. 
Of her goodness of heart he had no question. He 
was thoroughly satisfied. He knew nothing of her 
past, and if he had he would have been vastly char- 
itable. 

Birdie, however, seeing the improved state of her 
sister’s mind and manners, and appreciating the 
change thoroughly, felt the old impression still strong 
upon her. Belle must be cautiously dealt with, must 
be kept in a good humor, if possible, and, to accom- 
plish this, one must have a care as to one’s words and 
deeds. 

“ Why, I don’t know that I had any will in the 
matter of staying or going,” she said thoughtfully, in 
answer to Belle’s rather suggestive remark. ‘‘ I cer- 
tainly did not act against my principles. There seemed 
to be nothing else' to do but stay, but I assure you it 
was a trial to me.” 

A trial, indeed ! You can’t mean you would 
have preferred that hot, dirty, dismal attic to the 
lovely spaces of Glendyn ? ” 

“ Indeed I would have decidedly preferred it. 
What place on earth is like home ? ” 

“Hone, be it ever so humble,” laughed Belle. 
“ Well, Rose, I’m glad now you stayed, though it 
would have fretted me to death then to have known 
you were here. I would have suffered tortures of 
jealousy in picturing you living in elegant ease and 
luxury while I was drudging my life away in a 
garret.” 

“Why, so was I drudging. If you had thought 
of me spending the days in elegant ease you would 


414 


Royalized. 


have tliouglit very wide of the reality. You would 
have been decidedly out of your reckoning. I have 
done as much drudgery in these live years as you 
have, I am sure.” 

•/ What kind of drudgery ? O, study you mean. 
That is the worst kind, I admit. I never would do 
it. But you did not need to worry yourself with 
studies, child ; your singing is enough to pass you 
through the world.” 

‘‘ And do you imagine I liave learned to sing with- 
out working for it ? ” 

“ Why, yes. I thought it was a gift.” 

“ Well, granting that it is, what does a gift amount 
to without cultivation, and what is cultivation but 
hard work — drudgery, indeed ? Belle, you can’t think 
what absolute labor it has required to make my voice 
what it is.” 

“ W ell, it must be worth the struggle to be able to 
sing as you do. I am fairly puffed up with vanity 
every time I listen to you. I never dreamed you had 
such a voice.” 

“ It is worth the struggle,” said Birdie, with shin- 
ing eyes. “ It would have been worth the struggle 
even to have failed. ISTo honest effort is ever lost, let 
the result be what it will. The very striving after a 
good thing is a blessing. It benefits one through all 
time and eternity.” 

Senator Le Grand, at this very moment, was saying 
something decidedly like this to his grandsons in the 
library. 

“ The highest degree of success in this life is not 
that which is always most apparent to human eyes. 
There is a success which we call failure. If men 


Grand or Le Grand ? 415 

would realize this our record of suicides would be a 
hundred per cent, less annually. People rush at con- 
clusions ; rush into the outstretched arms of despair, 
which means ruin, without a thought- that the appar- 
ent calamity which has overwhelmed them is the 
greatest possible blessing. Worldly prosperity is not 
always an evidence of success.” 

“ Well, it’s all the evidence of it that I desire,” 
observed young Whitney, removing the cigar from 
his lips, and shaking the ashes from it carelessly upon 
the carpet. ‘‘ What else is there to engage our poor 
mortal powers ? I’m sure you aimed at it, sir, and 
achieved it too. If you had not been so fortunate 
you would not be speaking in this complacent way of 
those who fail. It is very easy to have patience with 
other people’s failures.” 

“ The question is,” said Grand very thoughtfully, 
speaking more to himself than any one else, “ what is 
failure ? ” 

His cousin turned upon him a disdainful stare. 
He was obliged to tolerate this young man, since his 
grandfather had so far lost his senses over him, but 
when it came to accepting a shade of any thing like 
patronage from such a source, that was wholly insuf- 
ferable. He recalled several remarks of Mr. Gilmore’s 
which had seemed to imply a feeling of superiority. 
It was quite time this sort of thing was effectually 
nipped in the bud. 

“ Failure, my young friend,” he drawled, still 
staring at Grand with scornful eyes, is that which 
usually occurs when a young person who was educated 
and bred in the streets of Hew York presumes to put 
his opinions on a par with those of gentlemen.” 


416 


Koyalized. 


An instant of dead silence followed this remark. 
Grand’s tine ej^es twinkled in the old boyish way. 
The speech was so shamelessly coarse that it bore no 
sting to the strong heart of the young person who 
had been educated in the streets of New York. A 
bright repartee sprang to his lips, but he restrained it. 
Where was the use to cope with such an adversary as 
this? What was to be gained by a war of words, 
even though victory was sure ? 

“ Failure follows many attempts of young persons 
who presume,” he said quietly, meeting the scornful 
eyes with a straight look, “ but unless one does pre- 
sume now and then one’s chances are necessarily- 
small, are they not ? ” 

“ Then let one be content with the life to which he 
was born,” sneered Le Grand. “No stream can rise 
higher than its fountain.” 

They were quite close to each other at this moment 
— these cousins to whom fortune had been so widely 
different. 

Mr. Le Grand, whose face had paled with indigr 
nation at young Whitney’s rudeness, looked from one 
to the other with compressed lips. The contrast be- 
tween them was never more striking than at this mo- 
ment. What was failure, indeed, and what was pros- 
perity? Here were two young men with the same 
good blood flowing in their veins. One had been 
carefully nurtured and tended from his infancy. 
Every possible advantage had been thrust upon hiin, 
every worldly treasure pressed and crowded into his 
full hands. The other, springing from the very depths 
of want and destitution and disgrace, had been com- 
pelled to meet and wrestle with life’s thorniest things 


Grand or Le Grand? 


417 


before Ins young feet could struggle into an open 
space. They were before him, these two living, 
breathing illustrations of prosperity and adversity. 
The question was. Which was which ? Which of the 
two had won in the race ? Which of the two was the 
brightest hq^'itage which he should leave to a world 
of darkness and great need ? Which most graciously 
crowned his old age — the boy upon whom he had 
lavished the full treasury of his storehouse, or the boy 
whose very existence he had scorned ? Which, alas ! 
which was the best illustration of failure, which the 
best illustration of success : Young Whitney, who 
counted his money by thousands and his lands by 
acres, or young Gilmore, wlio had only his brave, 
strong will between himself and direct poverty? 
Which was the manlier of these two; which the 
richer ? 

Mr. Le Grand bent his fine old head upon his hand, 
and with closed eyes studied the matter. What if he 
had never found Grand Gilmore. What if he had 
gone down to his grave believing that pale youth over 
there, with traces of a dissolute life written in bold 
characters over all his haggard face, to be the only 
one who should come after him to preserve the integ- 
rity of the good old name which he liad borne with 
so much pride. It must have been a cruel reflection. 
The gloom which it would liave cast over his closing 
years must have been exceeding dense, and but for a 
circumstance he should have stepped on into the gath- 
ering shades in blind, woeful ignorance of that which 
was making the night so light about him. But for a 
circumstance? To whom did he owe this sudden 
illumination of his old age? To Hugh Gilmore — that 
27 


418 


Royalized. 


despised outcast wliom he would have spurned as a 
worm beneath his feet ? No ; to the God of his 
fathers, who of the dust of the earth had raised up 
seed unto Abraham. To the God who had made 
Hugh Gilmore’s son a blessing to the age in which he 
ived; who through much peril and tribulation had 
guided these young feet into a safe path and made 
them strong. 

He opened his eyes suddenly. They were there 
yet, the two young men. Grand and Le Grand. He 
was no dream, no vision of a fond imagination, this 
tall, strong young fellow, with the brave eyes. God 
was boundlessly good. He had not left his unworthy 
servant only Le Grand. He had raised up for him 
also Grand ! 


Kex. 


419 


xxxiy. 

REX. 

“ The lamps we light are but the stars of promise, 

The faintest reflex of a distant sun 
That wakes an eager salutation from us 
Till nobler heights are won.” 

Some writer has said, ‘‘ People who would tell of 
to-day should wait until it has become yesterday.” It 
is a thought like this which is passing through Honor 
Leroy’s busy brain in the stillness of this golden after- 
noon as she looks with grav'e eyes into the yester- 
days which have made up her little life. 

What is there, after all, to this curious, contradic- 
tory thing we call life, but yesterday? An odd 
thought it is, too, when fully comprehended, how we 
live in the gliding waves of an ocean that never for 
the smallest instant ceases its onward rnshings. Even 
the quietest life, the most retired life, that would fain 
hide itself, that would keep itself in some safe place, 
and watch the years run on, has not the power to hold 
itself back for a second. It must rush on with the 
restless millions. It must be hurried ahead with the 
rapid, unceasing torrent of moments ! Thus we live 
in yesterdays, for they are all that we can see, all that 
we can reach out our hands and touch. All beyond 
is only vague, shapeless mystery. 

If we only had the patience ! ” cries out Honor 
sharply, bending the small pearl paper-knife which 


420 


Eoyalized. 


she holds with such sudden force that the delicate 
thing snaps in tvt^o worthless pieces. 

Maud stoops and picks up the pieces, frowning a 
little. 

“Well, I haven’t the patience,” she says rather 
irritably, “ with carelessness like that.” 

“Well, never mind,” laughs Honor, her cheeks 
flushing nevertheless. “You may have mine in its 
place, Maud. You have made something out of my 
carelessness. Tliis was too frail a toy to be of any 
earthly use. That must have been its fate sooner or 
later.” 

Maud rises hastily and goes in. She has not yet 
reached the time when trifles cease to annoy. Moi-e- 
over, Maud is decidedly of the earth, earthy, and 
things have not turned out to her fancy. She is 
more irritated by this little accident than she cares to 
display just now, with the calm eyes of Richard Avery 
looking straight into her heart, as they have a way of 
doing. He has strange notions, very, this young man 
with the far-seeing eyes, old-fashoned notions. He 
was born several years after his time* He has not 
improved upon acquaintance. 

Maud is a little afraid of him, though she does not 
know it. J ust now she caught in his eyes the hint of 
a quotation, which, if. spoken, would seem like this: 
“ Mistress of herself, though china fall.” And that 
is just what Maud Whitney is not; not mistress of 
herself in any happening, great or small. It is un- 
pleasant, though, to be reminded of it in this silent 
way. She listens, therefore, a little jealously, through 
the closed shutters as Honor continues her remark to 
Mr. Avery. 


Rex. 


421 


‘‘ If we only liad patience to wait until to-day has 
become yesterday.” 

“ ‘ It wad frae mony an error free us, and foolish 
notion,’ ” laughs the gentleman. “ It would be like 
seeing ourselves as others see us, would it not ? ” 

‘‘It would be like seeing ourselves and others in 
different lights. You remember how I talked about 
Grand Gilmore once, Mr. Avery; not so long ago 
either.” 

“ Ah, I see — to-day has become yesterday.” 

“If there is any thing I despise,” bursts forth 
Honor impatiently, “it is misjudging people; and 
what right have we short-sighted mortals to form 
opinions in any way.” 

“Hone at all,” observes Mr. Avery serenely. 

“The fact is, we know so little,” observes Honor, 
clasping her hands musingly ; “ we j udge of depths 
b}^ surfaces. We make our own limits and believe 
in them. It is the height of ignorance. If I had 
known that Grand Gilmore was the noblest soul 
living — but, then, how was I to know it ? ” 

“You were not to know it,” replies Mr. Avery 
calmly. “ Have you not yet discovered that the 
noblest natures give the least sign ? Heroes seldom 
come to the foreground with noise of instruments 
and waving banners while they are on the march. It 
is after the battle is fought and won that we recog- 
nize them. Some of the bravest souls go to their rest 
without any sound of trumpet. It sounds for them 
among the hills of glory. They know a hero up there ; 
they don’t see through a glass, darkly; but we — what 
do we know about it ? ” 

“What do we know about any thing?” speculates 


422 


Koyalized. 


Honor, with drooping eyes; “we must always see 
darkly. We have no hope of any better sight until 
we have new eyes. I always thought I should grasp 
at the opportunity to ‘ help some great soul to climb ; ’ 
instead of that I have done what I could to hinder 
one.” 

“ But you have not hindered one.” 

“No ; God takes care that his plans are not over- 
thrown by our blunderings. By the way, though, don’t 
you think it is a little too good a thing to happen to 
Mr. Le Grand ? He does not deserve such an honor 
to his old age as this.” 

“Why not?” 

“ Why, because he used his utmost endeavor to keep 
Grand down.” 

“What did he do?” 

“ Yon know as well as I do, what he did. He did 
nothing. That was the worst he could do.” 

“ Perhaps not. It is often the best thing that can 
happen to a boy to be thrown overboard and com- 
pelled to sink or swim as Grand Gilmore has been.” 

“ But he might have drowned.” 

“Yes, he might, but that seldom happens. Don’t 
you know it is a law of life that we can do what we 
must do ? ” 

“Well, perhaps; but that does not excuse Mr. Le 
Grand in the least. Do you think he neglected those 
children for their good ? ” 

“I don’t suppose he did. He was probably not 
even aware of their existence at the period of their 
greatest helplessness.” 

“ He ought to have been aware of it. There is no 
excuse for him. I think he behaved shamefully, 


E,ex. 


423 


Mr. Avery, and this is his reward. It doesn’t seem 
lair, somehow ; and Grand manifesting toward him 
such unfailing respect, and even affection, as if he 
liad been his best friend always! It is right, no 
doubt, but it doesn’t seem just, quite.” 

“It is quite proper, thougli. Grand could not do 
differently. It is impossible for a noble nature to 
cherish petty resentments or an unforgiving spirit. 
Mr. Le Grand has heartily repented of his pist, no 
doubt. It \vas only his blunder. He only made a 
mistake. Look yonder. Miss Honor. There’s a sort 
of poetic justice in that, is there not?” 

Honor’s eyes followed the direction of his, and 
flashed at what they saw. It was not wholly a pleas- 
ant sight, and yet there was -a poetic justice about it 
which could not be disputed. 

They stood facing each other, the two cousins, just 
as they had stood that summer day at the railway 
station ten years ago. Le Grand’s face was deeply 
flushed, and his eyes wore a decidedly heavy look 
that could mean but the one thing. He was talking 
very fast^ very loud, and very disagreeably. Grand 
looked down upon him with a mingled gaze of pity, 
entreaty, and disgust. One hand was laid strongly 
on his cousin’s arm, while the other opened the gate. 
He was ur^irm him to come in and hide himself from 
public gaze. He looked kinglike as he towered above 
the slight, stunted figure of Le Grand. He was a 
king, standing there in the flush and vigor of his 
pure young manhood ; a king who held in his 
hands strong rein of government over that sover- 
eignty hardest of all to control, self. A king of him- 
self he was. It needed no voice or language to pro- 


424 


Koyalized. 


claim that fact to the world. It needed neither 
crown nor scepter to set it forth. He carried the stamp 
of his royalty all over him. It spoke in his voice, in 
his step, in the very turn of his head. It was a grand 
and beautiful thing, this kingship, viewed from any 
stand-point ; from contrast with the debasing serfdom 
of an undisciplined soul it was glorious. 

Honor’s eyes flashed with something more than ad- 
miration as she gazed upon the picture down there 
by the gate; something which, from its very new- 
ness, startled her. She got up hastily and walked 
away to the other side of the piazza, in the sun, but 
out of the blaze of Eichard Avery’s clear eyes. How 
far were those eyes able to penetrate ? They were 
very keen, very searching. She could not trust them 
just now. She must be alone with this new revela- 
tion of herself; alone just for a moment, until she 
fully understood it — until she could school her tell-tale 
face into quietness. 

Upon her tumult a voice broke rather harshly. It 
was the voice which, above all others, she ought to 
delight in, she told herself sharply, compelling her 
eyes to look glad as she made room upon the seat for 
her father. 

“ Why do you not sit in the shade ? ” he asked care- 
lessly, glancing down at her. “ Don’t you know the 
Southern sun browns one dreadfully ? ” 

‘‘ I am not afraid of it,” Honor laughed, raising 
her eyes with a sort of defiance in them. “ My com- 
plexion is of that sort which holds its own against all 
winds and weathers. It is the one only beauty to 
which I lay claim. I believe I took it from you, did 
I not?” 


Eex. 


425 


“ I suppose so.” He sat down beside her abstract- 
edly. ‘‘Tliat sort which holds its own against all 
winds and weathers,” he repeated, and then his eyes 
lit up with a gleam of genuine pleasure. “ That is 
the complexion of your heart, is it not, Honor 
Leroy ? ” 

Honor shook her head dubiously. 

‘‘ I only wish it were,” she said. 

“ Why, it is, child. It is the complexion of your 
whole life — the sort that holds its own. I cannot 
tell you how proud it makes me to think such a thing 
of my daughter. Honor, do you think I did a base 
thing in deserting your mother when I did ? ” 

Honor looked straight in his eyes. 

‘‘Yes, sir,” she said emphatically. 

“ O, of course you do,” he pursued rather impa- 
tiently. “ You don’t understand ; you could scarcely 
be expected to ; but honestly, my .child, I thought I 
was doing an honorable thing. I had grown tired 
of doing dishonorable things. I thought for once I 
would do a noble one. It was like tearing my very 
life asunder, but I did it. I have known since that I 
did it from a mistaken notion.” 

“ What notion ? ” asked Honor, with deep interest. 

“I thought, I had an impression, that if I stayed, if 
I compelled that sweet, pure soul to live in daily con- 
tact with such a nature as mine it would in time 
become gross and sensual like my owm. It vras the 
falsest notion that ever crept into human brain. It is 
as impossible to sink a good woman like that as to lay 
a star out of heaven in the dust. But I did not know 
that then. I thought mine was the stronger nature. 
I could not know. I had not tested things then- 


'426 


Eoyalized. 


She was like tiie flax-flower, my little Margaret. She 
would have held up her blue eyes bravely in the face 
of any tempest that ever beat. If I had only known 
it then ! If I had only clung to her ! But I w^as blind. 
Before God in heaven, I am telling you the truth. 
It was not for my own sake I left her, but for hers. 
It was the hardest thing I ever did ; but, as God is my 
witness, I thought it was the noblest.” 

Honor’s warm, soft Angers closed about his hand 
involuntarily. 

“ I believe you,” she said fervently. “ If there had 
only been some one to tell you ! ” 

‘‘My own judgment must have told me in time, if 
I had only given it a chance to form itself, but that I 
never did. I was entirely a creature of impulse in 
those days, and the habit has grown with me. It will 
cling to me all my life. Honor, when one sees a 
young man like Grand Gilmore — but there ! it is too 
late for me to indulge in such fancies. My life is 
mostly behind me. It might have been once ; it can 
never be now, except through the joy I have in my 
daugliter.” 

“ It is never too late,” began Honor earnestly ; but 
he cut her short with the old imperious gesture. It 
was very plain, that he would always be a creature of 
impulse. His wife was removing some plants from a 
bed not far away. She beckoned to him at this mo- 
ment, and he sprang down the steps to meet her, with 
a sudden, boyish bound, like one who had discharged 
a painful duty and was glad to have it off his mind. 

Honor sighed a little as her eyes followed him. It 
was such a light nature. She wondered vaguely 
how her mother, her pure-hearted, strong, brave, true 


Rex. 


427 


little mother, could have lavished such a store of pas- 
sionate love upon him. And yet that was what good, 
brave women were doing all the world over. No one 
ever yet realized an ideal, so they had to do the next 
best thing, idealize realities. Ah, this was the secret 
of it. People idealized too much. 

Birdie was singing somewhere, in her happy, happy 
voice that always made one think of spring birds. 
Honor raised her head and listened to the words as 
they dropped down upon her from the still air, tender 
and sweet as scented violets. 

“ Like a cradle, rocking, rocking, 

Silent, peaceful, to and fro, 

Like a mother’s sweet looks dropping 
On the little face below. 

Hangs the green earth, swinging, turning, 

Jarless, noiseless, safe, and slow, 

Palls the light of God’s face, bending 
Down and watching us below.” 

Well, if this were so, where was the use to fret 
about the yesterdays? “Jarless, noiseless, safe, and 
slow,” she repeats, with a little thrill of exultation at 
her heart, as she rises and goes out into the glow of 
the sunset gold. It is lying all over the fair Southern 
world, wrapping it about with infinite peacefulness, 

“ Like the light of God's face, bending 
Down and watching ns below.” 

Another voice broke upon her meditations at this 
point. Was she never to be left to herself a moment? 
Alas, how her foolish heart would bound and send 
rifts of crimson into her foolish cheeks ! Alas, that 
this should be at the sound of Grand Gilmore’s pleas- 


428 


Boyalized. 


ant voice ! He came np behind her very quietly, step- 
ping with the peculiar stately grace of the Le Grands, 
which had come to him unconsciously out of the years. 
She turned and waited for him with drooping eyes. 
He must not see the new shining wdiich was there 
for him. 

But he did not seem to notice. He was not thinking 
about Honor Leroy evidently. There was a sort of 
quaver in his voice as he spoke to her. 

“ Honor, I have the strangest thing to tell you,” he 
began, and then stopped, looking at her with a half- 
vexed, half - laughing expression ; “ the strangest 

thing, the most unheard-of nonsense.” 

“I think I know. You need not tell me,” said 
Honor, looking back at him soberly. ‘‘ It is concern- 
ing Mr. Avery, is it not ? He is going to steal Birdie 
from you.” 

How did you know, or has it been a patent thing 
to all eyes but mi ne ? ” 

Why,” said Honor slowly, “ it could not very well 
be otherwise, in the adjustment of all beautiful things. 
You are not disappointed, I hope.” 

Grand shook his head rather undecidedly. 

“ Hot disappointed, no ; it had to be, I suppose. I 
had to lose her sometime, and there is no one on earth 
to whom I would more willingly resign her. But it 
seems cruel when I have only just found her that 1 
should lose her again. Are they going to rob me of 
every thing? At Belle’s wedding I congratulated 
myself that I was sure of Birdie for many years to 
come. She is such a child — such a tiny thing. Beally, 
I don’t see how a man could have the presumption to 
ask me to give up my all. I suppose it is the thing 


Rex. 


429 


I ought to have expected, only, you see, I didn’t. It 
lias come upon me so suddenly. What am 1 to do, 
Honor? ” 

Why, I don’t see but you will have to get married 
yourself, to be even with them,” she said lightly ; and 
then, meeting his eyes, she was vexed to feel that 
foolish crimson again surging up to the roots of her 
liair. Why could she not have made that little com- 
monplace speech to Grand Gilmore as she would 
liave made it to any other young man? Really, this 
was most vexatious. But to Grand that vivid blush 
was a beautiful revelation. It was the gladdest of 
all the glad things which had come to him in these 
last prosperous days. He had carried Honor Leroy’s 
face in his heart for eight years. There had never 
been any other in its place. He knew in this joyful 
moment that there never would be any other. And 
this even was attainable ! In the rare humility of his 
great nature he liad never before even allowed the 
thought to take shape within him. He shut his lips 
suddenly over the words that almost escaped them. 
Sometime, out in the years, when he had a right to 
this good gift — some day when he was more worthy, 
when he could give more in return, he would ask it. 
He could afford to wait now, with the blessed knowl- 
edge which that unmistakable blush had imparted, to 
keep his heart glad and sure. For Honor Leroy was 
not one to give her heart lightly, and she had given 
it to him. ISTo one else could have power to gain it 
out of his secret possession. 

Has it occurred to you that this is Christmas 
eve?” he said abruptly, his voice changing with the 
subject. 


430 


HOYALIZED. 


Why, I suppose it must be. It is the twenty- 
fourth of December certainly, but did your eyes ever 
behold a Christmas eve like this before ? ” 

The sun was quite down now. Softest rose-color 
and gold - touched clouds lay where the glory had 
been. 

“ All my life I have associated Christmas with 
snow-bound hills and barren trees and cold winds and 
Aunt Koxy and lots of goodies,” laughed Honor ; and 
then, sobering, “ This is a new order of things, is it 
not ? Look yonder, where the roses hang their pretty 
heads. Notice the thick foliage, green as June time. 
See how the sky smiles and dimples. Listen, Grand. 
The air is so still one could almost fancy the far-otf 
sounding of the song — ‘ that glorious song of old ! ’ ” 
Far away, where the world is white and cold, the 
same beautiful sky is laying its crimsOii cheek with 
the same warm tenderness upon snow^-crowned hills 
and lakes of ice. At this very moment Aunt Roxy 
is folding up her knitting- work and rolling the neat 
brown paper shades higher, so that the blushing glory 
may come in and bless her lonely old heart. She has 
caught it, too — that glorious song of old. It comes 
rolling down through the great white lulls, as the 
first star trembles on the mountain-top ; comes throb- 
bing into this believing soul with glad refrain : 

“ For the manpfer of Bethlehem 
Cradles a King.” 

Peace, peace, peace ! from north to south, and from 
the river unto the ends of the earth. That is what 
the song says to Aunt Roxy as she sees the stars come 
out in their countlessness. The yesterdays, with their 


Rex. 


431 


burden and their strife and tlieir struggle, are nearly 
all behind. Only a few more to-days to drift back 
into the long number, and then the great to-morrow 
with its intinite promise ! 

But these two down here in the rare, odorous, 
Southern twilight have not yet reached this summit. 
The inarch is still before them. The peaceful hills 
which lift their heads into eternal heights are still 
far away. 

The air is very pure to-night,” observes Grand, 
lifting his hat with a smile. 

Yes, the air was pure. The air would always be 
pui^ where the glow of Grand Gilmore’s healthful 
presence diffused itself. One such royal soul makes 
life worth the living. 

And thus the starlit darkness wraps them about in 
peace, these two who have striven to make the best 
of what God made, and out of the hallowed twilight 
of this Christmas eve he breathes upon them the 
benediction of his eternal good-will. 


THE END. 


T . 


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